


The Only One

by Barriss



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Porn, Porn With Plot, Smut, enjolras/eponine - Freeform, enjonine - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barriss/pseuds/Barriss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He treated her with a gentleness she had never known before. While she would spend her days in filthy alleys with drunken strangers, her nights would be salvaged by this fiery yet gentle man who made her feel wanted and loved, if merely for a few hours and if only in her head.' NOW A MULTI-CHAPTER.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! As you can see, I've decided to make this one-shot of mine into a multi-chaptered fic. A lot of people have asked me to continue this story, so here I am obliging.
> 
> Before you start reading, please take note that this fic is mostly a medium for me to spew out my smutty ideas and the main focus of the story will be the sexual relationship my mind has created for these two characters. For now at least. I swear there is a plot, even though it will be a while until we get there, but as I said, this is first and foremost a smutfic. Also, it is worth mentioning that I will go fully AU with the story, so some of the things I will write may not seem 100% plausible. As I said, I want to focus more on their relationship than the world around them.
> 
> Regarding the actual sex scenes, they WILL become explicit and detailed, so if you are uncomfortable with that, then I suggest you stop reading right now. Also, I doubt any dubious sex will take place within my fic, but if I decide that it fits, I will not hesitate to add it in, whether I condone of such behavior or not. But don't worry, I will make sure to post warnings if the need arises.
> 
> THERE HAVE BEEN SLIGHT MODIFICATIONS MADE TO THE FIRST CHAPTER. IT'S NOT 100% NECESSARY TO READ IT AGAIN IF YOU ALREADY HAVE, BUT IT WILL HELP MAKE THE STORY FLOW BETTER.
> 
> I'd like to thank to the awesome ThinksInWords for looking the chapter over and to all the people over at our Enjonine forum for helping me stay motivated and being a great inspiration to me.
> 
> Anyway, enough chit-chat, let's get on with the story. Enjoy.

**Chapter 1**

_April 16_ _th_ _1832_

"Please Monsieur" she begged, pulling on his shirt sleeve as the man tried to release himself from her grip.

"No Éponine!" Enjolras grumbled, pushing the gamine off of him, but gently enough so as not to cause any more injuries than she was already sporting on her small, malnourished body. His eyes roamed over her petite frame, counting the new cuts and bruises that had appeared since the last time she had invaded his apartment. He sighed, willing himself not to cave in and indulge the girl, if only out of pity.

"But Monsieur!" Éponine whined in protest and placed her hands on his chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, and pressed her body against his. She nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply, savoring his scent; she loved how he always smelled so clean compared to the filthy and repulsive men she usually associated herself with.

"Please" the gamine breathed against his skin. "You're the only one who can make me feel good. Please."

Ignoring the shiver Éponine's closeness sent down his spine, Enjolras grabbed the girl by the arms and shoved her away.

"That's only because your precious Pontmercy won't have you…" he spat and glared at her with such intensity that she involuntarily took a few steps back.

He scowled for a few more moments before turning his back on her and sauntering off to his bed; he jumped in and closed his eyes as he lay on his back with his limbs outstretched on either side of his body.

Éponine smiled hopefully and moved to join him before his cold voice made her stop in her tracks.

"You can let yourself out" he said, not even bothering to lift his head from the pillow.

She scoffed. ' _Why is he being so difficult?_ ' she thought. She knew he wanted this just as much as she did. Why did he have to let his stupid pride get in the way of their fun?

Éponine couldn't help but take a moment to admire the young man's form as he lay defenseless on his bed; she gazed at his mind-numbingly gorgeous face that made her go weak in the knees, his strong yet lean body that she adored, his blond curls that she loved running her fingers through. Enjolras may not have had Marius' sweet and kind demeanor, but there was something about him that enchanted her to the point of intoxication, he ignited a burning desire within her like no other man had ever managed, not even her beloved Marius. And she truly loved Marius, he was the one her heart belonged to, but Enjolras was like an addiction she could not rid herself of.

She felt the familiar ache in her lower abdomen as she stared at his sprawled frame, and without even giving it a second thought she unlaced her dress and let it fall in a heap around her ankles. The gamine stood completely bare, except for the thin layer of sweat that covered her entire body, hoping he would open his eyes and see her. When he didn't, she scoffed once again and purposefully walked towards the bed.

"Enjolras" she cooed, fishing desperately for his attention.

"Leave Éponine!" he deadpanned, not moving a muscle.

Enjolras frowned when he felt the bed dip. "Éponine I told you, I'm not going to – " he began, but froze when he felt something soft and wet graze the fingertips of one of his hands. He swallowed.

Éponine wanted to giggle, but all she managed were soft whimpers as she perched herself on her shins, which were stationed on either side of his hand and lowered herself so her throbbing core brushed against his large fingers.

The young man tried to pull his hand away, but she swiftly stopped him by leaning forward and grabbing his forearm with one hand and his bicep with the other, keeping his arm in place, all the while never stopping her rhythmic hip movements above his fingers.

His hand was drenched in her juices in a matter of seconds, and he could feel his pants becoming uncomfortably tight, his own arousal already beginning to ache for release.

Éponine moaned as she began grinding harder against his fingers, stimulating her clit with each rocking motion, letting the thrilling sensation wash over her and relishing in the rapture that coursed through her entire body. She heard Enjolras' fast and shallow breaths and she couldn't help but smirk at seeing his reddened cheeks and his brow glistening with sweat. He still hadn't opened his eyes, but the frown on his face and the clenched jaw were a clear sign of his internal struggle and pure sexual frustration.

"Please Monsieur!" Éponine whined, pressing her sex down hard on his soaked hand and bucking her hips, trying desperately to show him just how much she needed him.

She cried out as Enjolras finally relented and slipped a finger shallowly inside of her, a guttural moan escaping his own lips as he felt the warmth of her walls envelop him.

Using his arm as support, Éponine pressed down on his hand allowing his finger to penetrate deeper; she began raising herself then coming back down, slowly withering away with each torturous motion.

When he added a second finger she moaned loudly and dug her nails into his skin as he started thrusting in and out of her wet depths, making her delirious with pleasure.

Enjolras could finally stand it no longer. He could feel her pulse around his fingers, her moans and whimpers music to his ears, and he desperately wanted more. He slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the gamine.

The young man couldn't help the growl that escaped his lips at the sight of Éponine, bent forward towards him, riding his hand slowly and sensually, her face contorted in ecstasy as she responded to his touch. She was breathtaking and he shook with anticipation at the thought of replacing his fingers with his aching shaft. He took his free hand and hastily undid his pants, sliding them to his thighs, releasing his throbbing erection from the constricting garment.

Éponine grinned hungrily at the sight of him and began slowly leaning forward until her face was only a few inches away from his arousal. She flicked her tongue lightly against his tip, which earned her a deep groan from the revolutionary.

She did this a few more times and would have wanted to tease him longer, but her own needs won over her desire for revenge so she plunged her head down and took him into her mouth, greedily licking and sucking as she bobbed her head up and down his erection.

Enjolras cried out as ecstasy spread throughout his body; he buried his hand - the one that wasn't still thrusting inside of her - into her dark brown tresses, pushing her head lower onto his arousal until his full length was inside her mouth. She moaned and the vibration of her throat almost sent him over the edge. He swiftly pulled her up by the hair and brought her head to his, crashing their lips together in a passionate kiss.

She mewled into his mouth as his tongue swept inside of her and his fingers relentlessly pumped into her slit, making her world spin. She felt weak, yet her body was electrified with each thrust, with each touch; she was so close, yet he wouldn't let her finish.

Enjolras grinned. He loved keeping her on the tip of arousal, raising the tension inside of her then ruthlessly bringing her back down, her squirms and whimpers of protest making him quiver with sadistic delight. He added a third finger and thrust hard inside of her while his thumb began gently circling her clit.

Éponine screamed and jerked up at the overwhelming sensation. "Enjolras, please!" she begged, not even able to respond to his kisses anymore. "Please! Please! Please!" she panted to the rhythm of his strokes and managed to bring her hand to his pelvis, grabbing his arousal by the tip, squeezing it lightly.

He hissed and bucked his hips against her palm, his throbbing erection screaming, begging for blessed release as she stroked his length eagerly. It took every ounce of control he had to keep himself from erupting, so without waiting any longer Enjolras quickly removed his hand form her center and guided the gamine to his lap, placing her so that she was now straddling him, her sex brushing against his own.

They stared at each other for a second, and the young man couldn't help but be stricken by how beautiful Éponine looked as she hovered over his tip, her face flushed and glistening from the heat emanating from her body, her eyes hooded, filled with want, her juices dripping down her things and onto his own. He hungered for her more than he ever thought possible.

Éponine was thinking much of the same thing. The sight of Enjolras lying underneath, breathing harshly and gazing at her like a starving beast sent shivers to her core.

Without breaking eye contact, he took the hand that had been inside of her and brought it to his mouth, brushing his drenched fingers on his lips, smearing them with her juices. He then stuck his tongue out and licked his lips clean, savoring the sweetness of her arousal. He slid his other hand around her stomach and glided it up to her chest, cupping her left breast and brushing her nipple with his thumb.

"Enjolras" she moaned and her legs shook underneath her.

"Go ahead" he breathed and looked at her darkly, incapable of refusing her any longer.

Éponine smiled in gratitude and began slowly lowering herself onto his throbbing erection, pressing his tip against her folds. She groaned when his head finally entered her.

Enjolras bit his lip as he slid inside her slowly, forcing himself not to explode as he felt her wet walls embrace him. She was so tight it almost hurt. He grabbed her by the waist and thrust his hips upwards, shoving the rest of himself inside of her all at once and they both cried out at the blissful sensation.

Éponine's mind could no longer keep up, so she let her body take over. She started moving up and down his length, the friction sending shocks throughout her core. She lifted herself, letting him almost slip out and then pushed him back in, throwing her head back and whimpering in the process. She did this a few more times, before Enjolras stopped her and held her in place by the hips.

His breathing was harsh and labored, and the pulsating vein in his temple told her that he was close to breaking too.

Before she knew what was happening she was lying on her back, screaming as he pounded into her fast, hard and in a steady rhythm. His large hands roamed all over her body caressing her skin, cupping her breasts and his fingers pinching her nipples. His lips found hers and he kissed her hungrily, his tongue exploring every inch of her crevice, his teeth nibbling on her lower lip.

This was why Éponine came to him. Enjolras may have been a ruthless revolutionary, a terrible young man who only thought of liberty and uprisings, but here with her, on his bed, he was nothing but a passionate, thorough lover. He was not Marius, she did not love him, but being with this man somehow gave her an odd sense of fulfillment. While she would spend her days aimlessly walking through filthy alleys , begging or stealing to keep herself alive, her nights would be salvaged by this fiery man who made her feel wanted, if merely for a few hours and if only in her head.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she concentrated on the sounds that came from his body meeting hers and the bed that was creaking from the force of his thrusts. She mewled in his mouth with every push, and she felt the pressure inside of her build up.

He pulled his head back and stared at her face. Her expression was twisted in pleasure and the soft cries she made while he pumped inside of her made his heart drum violently in his chest; he loved seeing her this way, knowing that it was he and he alone who could make her scream and shudder in ecstasy like this. He increased his tempo to match his speeding pulse and he could feel himself slowly slipping into the abyss.

Éponine raised her pelvis and lifted her legs, placing them on his hips, hugging him and inviting him to go in deeper. She cried out as he pushed at the new angle, hitting spots within her that she never knew existed.

"Don't stop. Please don't stop" she pleaded and Enjolras obliged, pounding ferociously into her until she screamed out and her whole body shuddered uncontrollably as the intense waves of pleasure washed over, her orgasm frenzied and violent.

Enjolras groaned loudly as her body clenched around him, and after a few more thrusts he joined her in delirium and finally let go, burying his head in the crook of her neck as he flooded himself inside of her.

They panted in unison for a few moments, both of their bodies heavy and weak with exhaustion. They held each other tight until they regained their senses, snapping out of the blissful daze that always came after the hysteria of sex and rapture of release.

"Thank you, Monsieur" Éponine whispered, truly content and, for the first time in days, relaxed.

Enjolras lifted his head to gaze at her face with a thoughtful expression. He did this for a few moments before silently extracting himself from within her and rolling off her body, landing on his back beside her.

She sighed when he didn't say a word and began moving to get out of bed and on her way; she didn't want to bother him more than necessary, fearing that next time he would reject her even more adamantly.

She got to her feet, making sure not to touch him again and went about dressing herself. It didn't take her long, as her outfit consisted only of a ratty old skirt and a filthy chemise that was a bit too large for her, so after only a couple of minutes she was ready to leave. She glanced back at him one last time before making her way to the door.

"We will not be doing this again, 'Ponine. Do you understand?" Enjolras said suddenly, still keeping his eyes fixed on the sealing.

She smirked. "Whatever you say, Monsieur." And with that, she disappeared behind the door and shut it closed behind her.

Enjolras listened to the sound of Éponine traversing the sitting room and sighed after he heard the familiar slam of his front door. ' _I will have to be sterner with her next time_ ' he thought lazily as he closed his eyes and drifted off into a relaxed slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have chapter 2. This one is a lot more detailed than the first chapter and it took me quite a long time to write it.
> 
> A quick reminder, that some modifications have been made to chapter 1. It's not 100% necessary to read it, but it would make the story flow better.
> 
> A big thank you to the awesome ThinksInWords for looking the chapter over and to all the people over at our Enjonine forum for helping me stay motivated and being a great inspiration to me.

_April 22nd 1832_  
  
"Get out!"  
  
"But Monsieur – "  
  
"No buts, Éponine! Get out now!" Enjolras bellowed as he tried to drag the gamine out of his flat.  
  
Enough was enough. They had been playing this ridiculous game of theirs for the better part of three months now, and the rules were always the same: Éponine would come knocking at his apartment door, begging him to, as she so eloquently put it, 'make her feel good'; Enjolras would try to reason with her and argue why they should abstain from making any more mistakes; Éponine, being the intelligent, cunning woman she was, always managed to make him cave; and Enjolras always ended up being the loser, never able to deny her needs, or his own.  
  
He had to end this; he could not take it anymore. Yes, the sex was incredible, and it would be a lie if he claimed he did not enjoy it. He actually enjoyed it very much, but the fact of the matter was that it was clouding his mind; becoming preoccupied with a woman in such a way was not part of his plans. The only thing Enjolras needed to focus on was France. His impoverished country that was enslaved by this accursed constitutional monarchy, its miserable people, the need for freedom and justice… these were the things that needed his undivided attention, not the carnal needs of a woman.  
  
There was also the problem of his constant craving for this girl. He found himself thinking of her at inopportune moments, and sometimes he even found it difficult to hold back from seeking her out himself. Enjolras had never before felt the need, nor desire, to be intimate with another person. Intercourse had always been a subject in which he had found absolutely nothing of interest; that is until that fateful night in which he and Éponine had first been together. Since then, his views had been completely and irrevocably altered. He now found the act extremely enjoyable, almost addicting, and a particularly excellent way to relieve pent-up stress, of which he was commonly known to suffer.  
  
But no matter how agreeable he found their time spent together, the fact remained that it was not healthy. They were not in a relationship, they knew very little about each other, and being in love was completely out of the question. Furthermore, he knew for a fact that Éponine was merely using him. He was nothing more than a second-rate substitution for Pontmercy, and that infuriated him more than he would ever admit. To this girl, he was a means to escape the wretched existence their sordid society had forced upon her, and had circumstances been different, he would have gladly offered her his full support, but as things were right now he could not afford to do so.  
  
No, this needed to end, and it needed to end now.  
  
Éponine was still staring up at him with those large brown eyes he liked so much; it was difficult, but he needed to be strict with her.  
  
Enjolras opened his mouth to speak but he was cut off by a flash of blinding light, followed by a loud cracking sound from outside.  
  
"It appears tonight will be a wet one" Éponine commented distractedly, her eyes still completely focused on his face.  
  
They contemplated each other for a moment, the sound of thunder being the only thing that would now and then break the silence that had fallen upon the room.  
  
Éponine was the one to break their eye contact. She lowered her head, trying to hide the smirk on her face. "Well then, I suppose I should be on my way" she said, and turned to leave.  
  
Enjolras followed her with his gaze, an insecure expression shadowing his features. He could hear the wind pick up outside and the thunder getting louder. His jaw clenched.  
  
She was just about to go through the door when he suddenly called after her, stopping the gamine in her tracks. Her smile widened, but she quickly repressed it and turned around on her heels to face the young man, raising her eyebrows in fake confusion.  
  
"Yes, Monsieur?" she asked in the most innocent tone she could achieve.  
  
Enjolras really did not like that tone.  
  
"Just come in" he grumbled, gritting his teeth in annoyance. There was no way Enjolras could possibly let the poor girl go out on the streets in this sort of weather; besides being ungentlemanly, it was inhumane. He sighed in defeat.  
  
"Thank you" Éponine quipped and almost skipped her way back inside the apartment, a large, pretty smile decorating her face.  
  
Even though her current mien annoyed him, he liked it when she smiled like that. He looked at her bemusedly as she slowly approached him with a childish, yet mischievous look in her eyes.  
  
The gamine moved to embrace him, but was stopped by Enjolras holding up his palms in front of her, the stern look returning brusquely to his face  
  
"Sofa" he gestured towards the red loveseat that was the centerpiece of the sitting room they found themselves in. It was one of the few pieces of furniture Enjolras owned that looked remotely elegant and expensive. Though it was fairly small in size, it was more than enough for Éponine's small body to be able to rest comfortably.  
  
She stared at him in disbelief. She wanted to protest, but it was clear that he was not going to waver on the matter.  
  
"I will see you in the morning" he said tersely. "Good night."  
  
And without another word he turned on his heels, marched towards his bedroom, and disappeared behind the door, slamming it shut behind him.  
  
The gamine was left alone to stare at the spot where Enjolras had stood only seconds ago. She clicked her tongue. 'Poor man' she smirked, 'how can you possibly believe I would give up so easily?'  
  
'There is no chance she will give up so easily' Enjolras pondered as he went about removing his clothes and changing into his sleepwear. He was certain Éponine would somehow try to get her way; she was very stubborn like that. He just needed to ascertain there would be no opening for her to take advantage of.  
  
There was no lock on the door, so shutting himself in was not a possibility. He looked around the room, hoping to find something of use in the matter, but of course he was out of luck. Enjolras knew he really did not have many options, but if there was one thing he could do, it was learn from his mistakes.  
  
Remembering their last encounter, the blond plopped down on his bed, took the duvet and covered himself up to his neck. He turned to his side and buried his hands underneath the pillow, making sure they were completely out of reach.  
  
There was nothing more he could do now, except pray that she would have the decency to respect his wishes and not come barging into his room, trying to force herself upon him again.  
  
After several minutes, Enjolras was still alone, and he could feel the numbness of sleep begin to take over his body. 'Perhaps she will actually behave this time' he thought as he felt his consciousness slowly slip away.  
  
It proved to be only wishful thinking however, as not a minute later he heard the sound of the door creaking open and someone slowly entering his bedroom. His hands clenched into fists underneath the pillow. 'Oh, for the love of God!' he thought as he gritted his teeth in frustration.  
  
He considered getting up and yelling at her to get out, but decided against it and took to just lie there unmoving, pretending he was asleep. Enjolras did not want to be too harsh with her, no matter how exasperating she could be; he did not want to scare her, or make her hate him. He hoped that if he just ignored her and pretended to be in deep slumber, she would give up and return to her own bed.  
  
He felt the bed dip next to him, and he fought to suppress a groan. 'Of course she would not give up.'  
  
There was some odd shifting on the mattress; Enjolras had no clue what she was up to, but he was not particularly keen on finding out. He kept his eyes firmly shut, and tried to pretend Éponine was not there.  
  
Suddenly, he felt the bed dip on both sides of his head and frowned. 'What in the world is she doing?'  
  
Cursing his curiosity, Enjolras covertly opened one eye to see what exactly was happening. He was surprised to be met by the sight of a small foot standing directly in front of his face. He almost wrinkled his brows in a frown, but remembered he was supposed to be asleep and hastily closed his eye and resumed his feigning.  
  
"Don't pretend to be asleep, Monsieur, stealth and deceit are my forte, not yours" he heard Éponine chuckle from somewhere up above.  
  
Enjolras had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything rude. Knowing there was no point in keeping up this pretense any longer he opened both eyes and rolled over to lie on his back, with the intent of admonishing her for once again going against his wishes. Or at least he would have, had he not been frozen on the spot and rendered completely speechless by the sight that greeted him as he looked up.  
  
Éponine was standing directly above him with both feet planted firmly on the mattress on either side of his head and her hands holding onto on the bed's headboard for support. She was also completely naked, and all Enjolras could actually see was the bare flesh between her legs. She was facing the wall and she was staring down at him with a bemused expression. "Are you all right?" she asked innocently.  
  
He swallowed hard and found that his throat had gone unexpectedly dry. He could also feel his manhood slowly hardening under the covers as he stared up at her center, unable to take his eyes away. He could have done with a drink right now.  
  
Éponine chuckled as she gazed down at him through hooded eyes. Seeing the blush slowly spread on his cheeks and his mouth hang open as he stared up at her sex told her she had already won. Knowing she was the only one who could bring out such expressions out of this stoic man who only knew revolution and politics made her feel empowered. Her heart couldn't help but flutter with pride and the ache in the pit of her stomach could only grow in intensity as this so-called marble man gazed at her with such obvious ravenous lust. She could not wait for him to put that desire to good use.  
  
She needed this man to make her feel good, not just physically, but emotionally as well. Éponine needed to feel wanted, and right now, Enjolras wanted her.  
  
"Get off the bed, 'Ponine" Enjolras said tersely all of a sudden.  
  
It surprised her. 'He is being more stubborn than usual' she thought and clicked her tongue in annoyance.  
  
Enjolras was not pleased with the situation he found himself in. He was trying hard to keep himself from caving and taking the girl right then and there. He was actually clutching his bed sheets so tightly his knuckles had turned while, all the while trying to force his erection away by sheer will-power. "Get off the bed, Éponine" he repeated himself, and he cringed when he heard the hoarseness of his voice. He really needed a drink.  
  
Instead of gracing him with a reply, Éponine smirked. She began slowly lowering her body until she was perched on her shins, her hands remaining on the bed's headboard for support and her center stopping merely inches above his face.  
  
Enjolras was about to voice his indignation about her continuous disregard of his requests when his nostrils were suddenly hit by her womanly scent and all words escaped him. He couldn't help himself from letting out a guttural breath after inhaling her sweet fragrance, and his mind blanked as his eyes gazed up at her tempting womanhood.  
  
Éponine shivered as she felt his hot breath hit her center. She bit her lip and it took such a large amount of self-control to remain in the same position and not thrust herself upon his face. "Monsieur Enjolras" she said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper, "please."  
  
The blond gritted his teeth as a massive internal struggle went on inside of him. His rationality and reason fought against his more basic, animalistic urges, rendering him at a loss for what he should do.  
  
"Please" she begged once more and lowered herself slightly, until his nose slightly grazed her clit, causing a soft whimper to escape her throat.  
  
Enjolras closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting his senses become overwhelmed by the aroma of her arousal and the feeling of her heat only a breath away from his lips. He opened his eyes and admired the soft flesh of her sex. Without even truly realizing what he was doing, he lifted his head slightly and brushed the tip of his nose against her swollen clit. He grinned when Éponine started with a yelp.  
  
"It tickles" she giggled and bit her lower lip, trying to hide the satisfied smirk on her face. Her mind was slowly becoming clouded with desire and all she wanted was to feel more of him. She positioned herself so that the little bundle of nerves between her legs was directly above his mouth and slowly began swaying her hips, brushing her folds against his soft lips. She mewled and whimpered as the contact sent small shocks of pleasure through her body. "Please, Enjolras."  
  
"What am I going to do with you, 'Ponine?" Enjolras sighed against her folds, his mouth twitching in a smirk as he felt the moistness or her desire wet his lips. Without warning, he stuck his tongue out and ran it through the entirety of her sex, tasting her sweetness and appreciating the sound of her pleasured shriek that only he knew how to elicit.  
  
He let his tongue tenderly trace each fold a few times, letting himself enjoy the softness of their flesh, before moving it to her clit and flicking the little bundle a few times with its tip. He slowly began circling the swollen bud clockwise, then counterclockwise, and then repeated the process several times, before returning his attention to her folds again.  
  
Éponine groaned and shuddered as Enjolras fed on her center. Her hold on the headboard tightened as the sheer force of the pleasure he was causing made her feel dizzy and weak. She could hardly believe such bliss was even possible; it was astounding how he managed to lift her to new heights every time they were intimate, and so easily at that. It was incredible. He was incredible.  
  
"ENJOLRAS!" she screamed as she felt him take her clit between his lips and suck it gently. She threw her head back and her body shook uncontrollably the more suction he applied. She removed a hand from its place on the bedpost and brought it to one of her breasts, kneading and caressing the soft flesh of her mound. She caught her nipple between two fingers and began pinching and twisting it, adding to the ecstasy the man underneath her was already producing. She lightly pressed herself downwards and began slowly gyrating her hips against his mouth as he licked her.  
  
Enjolras groaned against Éponine's pulsating core as she swayed against his lips; he was so aroused he could barely contain the overwhelming desire that was bubbling within him. Her juices were dripping down his chin and throat, quenching the thirst that had consumed him before. He swallowed every drop of her; he was insatiable and he felt like he could never have enough of her taste.  
  
A loud moan escaped her lips as she moved her center lower on his face and his chin suddenly hit her opening, pressing against her slightly. Éponine's eyes widened and her mouth fell open as she gasped at the overwhelming sensation.  
  
His sucking and licking of her clit, his lips kissing her folds, the point of his chin adding pressure to her slit made her body tremble. She was so close to heaven it felt like she was soaring, but she didn't want to reach it; not yet. She was not that selfish.  
  
Unexpectedly, Éponine briskly lifted her hips and gingerly got to her feet, leaving a perplexed Enjolras to follow her with his eyes.  
  
The blond looked at her questioningly, and worried that he had done something wrong. He did not get the opportunity to ask however, as she hastily turned her body around so her back was now facing the wall and lowered herself back down upon him.  
  
Enjolras happily reclaimed her sex with his mouth, but faltered as he felt her bending forward and her hands began fiddling with the buttons of his pants. He groaned loudly against her folds when Éponine released his hardened member from the constriction of his trousers and wrapped her small hand around it.  
  
She began slowly running her fingers up and down his shaft, letting them linger on his tip and squeezing it gently in her palm.  
  
His breaths started coming in harsher, and it took everything he had to remain focused on his own task. His tongue lapped at her center, while his lips would pinch her soft folds or suck on her swollen clit which made Éponine struggle with staying concentrated as well.  
  
The waves of pleasure that were washing over her core while he devoured her were so powerful she could barely breathe. She was dying to drown in ecstasy, but she also did not want to go alone. Using both hands, she caressed his throbbing erection, one stroking his length in eager motions, while the other traveled south until it found his testicles.  
  
He hissed when her fingers gently brushed against his testicles and his body tensed. When he felt her tongue flick against his tip, he was no longer able to contain low growls from escaping his lips.  
  
Éponine could taste the pre-cum on the apex of his manhood and she smiled as she licked him clean, enjoying the salty taste of his seed as well as his blissful moans against her slit. She loved pleasing him. He was always very vocal during sex; hearing his sighs and groans was one of the things Éponine enjoyed most.  
  
When she opened his mouth and suddenly took half his shaft in at once, Enjolras cried out so loudly that it made sounds come out of her own lips. She began bobbing her head up and down his hardness, taking more of him in, bit by bit. For the part she couldn't get in her throat, she used her hand to compensate, stroking and squeezing him as she furiously sucked him off. All of this and her other hand that was still massaging his testicles made Enjolras see stars before his eyes.  
  
He had to give it his all to keep himself from erupting right then and there; the only thing that kept him grounded was his own task of keeping Éponine at the same level of heaven he was on.  
  
He maneuvered his own arms in such a way that they were now underneath her, spreading her folds apart and allowing him better access to her slick heat. His tongue swept against the pink flesh as he explored every inch of her core, until it finally rested on her opening. Slowly, he inserted his tongue inside of her, forcing as much of it in as he could. After finding the limit of his reach, he gently retracted his tongue, only to push it back in with greater force.  
  
The unexpected intrusion made Éponine gasp. She shivered as her skin became covered in goose bumps and the ache deep down in her lower abdomen became unbearable. She couldn't stop moaning as he tormented her; even as she shoved the entirety of his length down her throat, she could not stop screaming. Even though her harsh pants and groans were muffled by his member that filled her mouth to the brim she could not stop vocalizing her euphoria.  
  
They both knew they were slowly reaching their breaking point. Their mouths fed furiously on each other's sex, the pair anxious to push the other over the edge of ecstasy as soon as possible. They both let out loud guttural moans as he ravished her between her legs and she swallowed his length to the hilt.  
  
When Enjolras brought his fingers to her clit and gently pinched it, Éponine shuddered so violently one would think she was having a seizure. His index finger began making circular motions around the small bundle of nerves while his tongue thrust inside of her and his lips caressed her folds. He could feel she was close, as her breathing became shallower and her body began clenching around him. Feeling her on the brink of erupting, he wrapped his arms around her backside and forced her down harder onto his face. His mouth opened wide and covered the whole of her sex as if he did not want a single inch left out. He sucked hard and his tongue danced furiously around her wet heat as her juices ran down his throat. He drank every single drop of her, while the excess drizzled down his chin and all the way to his throat, staining his nightshirt in the process.  
  
Éponine's body convulsed as rapture finally took over; her vision went blurry and her ecstatic scream would have rang throughout the bedroom had her mouth not been filled to the brim with his throbbing arousal.  
  
Enjolras could feel the tremor in her throat around his shaft and it made him start losing control as well. He quickly withdrew his lips from her spent sex and barely managed to breathe out: "'Ponine, I'm…" before the overwhelming bliss made him lose his voice.  
  
But that was all she needed to hear. Dazed as she was, she could clearly understand what he was trying to express. She removed his straining member from her mouth and hastily replaced it with her eager hand. She stroked his length in frenzied motions while her other hand was still busy caressing his testicles. She rubbed him so hard and fast her arms were beginning to hurt, but no matter how straining it was she would not have stopped even if her life depended on it.  
  
"God…" Enjolras groaned as he squeezed her backside and buried his head between her legs. His hips bucked and his body shuddered as rapture flowed through his body. His eyes went up into his head, and with a scream, he finally exploded in a mind shattering orgasm. As he came, his hot stream hit Éponine, who had not been fast enough to dodge, square in the face.  
  
They both remained in the same positions until they were finally able to get their breathing under control and get back in contact with reality.  
  
It was Éponine who moved first. She gingerly rose off of Enjolras' body and settled herself beside him in a seated position.  
  
After he finally regained his thinking capacity, he turned his head to look at her, ready to deliver his usual speech on why what they had done should never happen again, but immediately froze as his eyes fell upon the young girl's form.  
  
Éponine was gazing at him with a dazed smile on her lips; her body was shining with sweat, her cheeks were flushed and her pretty face soiled white by his dripping ejaculate. His semen drizzled off her face down to her perky breasts and Enjolras could not help but stare at her in awe.  
  
She was beautiful. And the thought that he was the one who made her look like that made his heart pound inside his chest. Were he not so tired, he would yank her to him and ravish her again on the spot.  
  
"What are you staring at?" she asked teasingly.  
  
He considered not answering her question, but for some reason, he decided to go with the truth this time. "You."  
  
Her smile faltered for a short moment, and she looked at him confusedly. Then it widened and she lowered her gaze and Enjolras could have sworn she looked embarrassed.  
  
The blond finally managed to get up and sit in front of her. As he did so, he grabbed a handkerchief from the bedside table and handed it to her.  
  
Éponine stared at the piece of fabric but did not move to take it. Instead, she brought her index finger to her breast and scooped a few drops of his seed on its tip. She stuck out her tongue and licked his ejaculate off her finger as she glanced up at him with a challenging expression.  
  
She was about to repeat the action when Enjolras suddenly grabbed her by the wrist. He stared at her with a dark expression, and she shuddered at the intensity of his gaze. His breathing had become labored once again and the throbbing vein in his temple told her that he was already aroused.  
  
But instead of throwing himself upon her like Éponine had hoped, the blond took the handkerchief and shoved it in her face. He rubbed her skin harshly, wiping the semen off as if he were cleaning a child who had dirtied himself after a meal.  
  
The gamine protested and tried to escape his hold, but his hand on her wrist kept her firmly in place.  
  
"Stay still" he admonished as he rubbed the last of his seed off her face. He then brought the handkerchief down to wipe at her neck, chest and finally at the swell of her breasts.  
  
Éponine inhaled sharply as the soft fabric came in contact with the skin of her mounds. She glanced at him as he busied himself with cleaning his own ejaculate and couldn't help but want to laugh at his serious expression. She loved seeing how focused he was on his task, his eyes fixed on her chest, his cheeks flushed and his lips slightly parted. She wanted to kiss those lips so badly.  
  
When he finally finished, he looked up to find her staring at him intently, her bottom lip between her teeth and a mischievous glint in her eyes.  
  
Before Éponine knew it, Enjolras had grabbed her by the nape of the neck and yanked her body to his own, capturing her mouth in a deep, needy kiss.  
  
She mewled against his lips and immediately opened her mouth to allow his tongue entrance. She could still taste herself on his lips, and she could feel the familiar pressure in her lower regions beginning to surface again. Éponine brought her fingers to his head and buried them in his soft hair, tugging at the blond locks as their lips danced against each other.  
  
He cupped her face in his large hands and let his tongue sweep inside her warm cavern. When all the air had completely left his lungs, he begrudgingly pulled his lips away and gazed into her large brown eyes.  
  
They stared at each other for a while, both panting and red faced from the heat that had enveloped their bodies.  
  
Éponine was eager for him to once again make her his and braced herself for Enjolras to take her right then and there. She was shocked when, instead of pouncing on her, he swiftly buttoned up his trousers and fell back onto his bed with a satisfied sigh.  
  
"Sofa" was all he said before shutting his eyes closed and letting his exhaustion get the best of him. A few short moments later and his chest was rising slowly as he finally drifted off to sleep.  
  
The gamine shook her head in surprise and stared blank-faced at the slumbering man. She could not believe he could so easily ignore his obvious needs and choose to sleep rather than satisfy them.  
  
She considered waking him and forcing herself upon him again, but after glancing at the dark circles under his eyes she thought better of it. He looked so serene and peaceful as he slept that she could not bring herself to bother him.  
  
She shot the window a quick look and realized the rain had finally ceased. With a sigh, the gamine slowly got off the bed and carefully made her way back towards the sitting room. She gently closed the door behind her and, after finding her clothes which she had unceremoniously discarded on the floor, made work of dressing herself. 'No point in staying in this flat any longer' she thought as she pulled her skirt up her thighs.  
  
It was still not very late yet; perhaps if she went home now, she would still catch Marius before he went to bed. A smile crept on the girl's lips as the image of the young man's gentle face and the memory of his kind voice bidding her 'good night' flooded her mind.  
  
She hastily finished dressing herself, eager to leave Enjolras' home and run back to her own. Before letting herself out, she stopped by the table where the owner ate his meals, upon which a large bowl of red apples was placed in its center. She pocketed the two handsomest ones she could find and grinned. 'Perhaps Marius will appreciate it and smile at me' she thought wistfully.  
  
Without so much as another glance back, Éponine ran out the front door and out into the dark, damp streets of Paris. Her mind was filled with nothing but thoughts of her handsome dark-haired neighbor, while all memories of the blond man she had given herself to only a few minutes ago disappeared into the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading, the third chapter will take some time to get here, as I'm still writing it, but hopefully it won't take me exceedingly long to get it done. Reviews are very much appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's chapter 3. Sorry it took so long, but as you can see I'm trying to make up for the long wait with an extra-long chapter. I know it's big, but there is actual plot in this (not even I'm capable of writing 10k-word smut). Anyways, thanks for reading and hope you enjoy.

**Chapter 3**

_May 1 st 1832_

                It was an ominous occurrence when even Enjolras was at a loss for words. The law student sat silently at his table, chin buried underneath his intertwined hands, his gaze fixed on the agitated crowd in front of him and his mind in a million different places, thinking of a million different things.

                Les Amis de l’ABC had all convened at the Café Musain after Joly, who had claimed the need to divulge an important piece of news to the organization, had requested the impromptu meet. “General Lamarque has fallen ill with cholera,” he had announced, leaving the audience of students in stunned silence.

                The group of young men took turns at staring at each other with deep uncertainty spread across their young features as they processed this disturbing new bit of information.

                “What are the chances of recovery?” Combeferre was the first to speak, a somber expression darkening his usually serene face.

                Joly shook his head wearily and removed his spectacles in order to wipe the lenses clean with a handkerchief. “Close to none, I am afraid. The general is already well past his prime, and his body is in no condition to properly fight the disease. I doubt he will see the end of summer,” the medical student answered with a sadness one rarely heard in his usually good-humored voice.

                Suddenly, Enjolras rose from his seat and began pacing about the room; he was agitated and he found it almost impossible to stay still.

                Lamarque was dying. The people’s man, one of the only politicians he truly looked up to, would soon be no more; somehow he could not bring himself to believe it. His mind was racing, his brain had become a jumble of thoughts he could barely make heads or tails of, and his heart was beating furiously inside his chest as he stomped from one end of the room to the other. “This is a very important development. This could be the spark we need to light the road to progress,” he muttered breathlessly as he wrung his hands together in a mix of anxiety, excitement and, what he would never admit, fear. “With Lamarque on his death bed the people’s concerns will only increase in numbers,” he added, much louder this time so as everyone could hear. “They will come to realize that they are losing their defenders one by one, and unless they rise up and fight for themselves, freedom will never come.”

                He finally stopped pacing and gazed into the faces of his comrades. “The people will come to realize that they are the ones who truly have the power,” he said and he could feel his pulse accelerate as agitation coursed through his veins.

                “Do not be so quick to deem this an opportunity, Enjolras,” Combeferre, always the voice of reason within the group, interrupted his best friend’s excited speech. “This news could just as well be ill-boding for us” the guide reasoned, and looked at the Chief with a mild look of worry on his face.

                The blond shook his head at the medical student’s observation. This was not the time to be pessimistic; they had to look to the future with hopeful eyes. If they couldn’t do that then there was no chance they would succeed on their journey to a better France. “Then we shall turn this event to be in our favor. There are times when good things do not come to those who wait.” His voice was clear and he made himself believe each and every word he spoke. “While there is life, there is hope.”

                The room erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause, the faces of these young men who fought for freedom now shining with dreams for a brighter future, their strong desire for liberty fueled by the leader’s passionate words of encouragement.

                Enjolras contemplated the excited students and nodded in approval. Their enthusiasm was of the essence as the time for change approached frighteningly fast. He only hoped it would last, for all of their sakes.

* * *

 

                Éponine roamed the streets of the Latin Quartier aimlessly, with no destination to reach and no one to reach it with. She glanced at the beggars and thieves that lined the grimy road of Rue St. Michel, those who were as downtrodden as she, who fell to their knees for less than a crust of bread, or whose eyes locked on the pockets of their unsuspected pray like hawks; the hungry and the diseased who looked towards each new day with nothing but hopeless fear. Normal people would be dismayed by this depressing sight, but after years of seeing and experiencing this kind of misery every day, to her, it had become nothing but a cruel, natural reality.

                Whenever she gazed at the ensemble that was the poverty-stricken lower class of Paris, her mind always wandered to the merry band of bourgeois misfits, the so-called ‘Amis de l’Abaissé’, and she could not help but snicker at the thought. ‘ _Those boys will sooner end up dead than feed all of those who are hungry,_ ’ Éponine reflected. No matter how good their intentions were, she knew all of their efforts would be in vain _._ It was a hopeless cause, and only those who truly knew what it was like to be one of the abased could understand.‘ _They will see for themselves soon enough,_ ’ she thought and continued her trek along the filthy Parisian street.

                “It doesn’t suit you, you know,” a deep voice rang out from behind, causing Éponine to start and whirl around to see who had spoken.

                Her body relaxed when she realized who the owner of the voice was. “Oh, it’s only ‘Parnasse.” She acknowledged the handsome young man uninterestedly and was ready to continue her walk when he called out to her again.

                “What do you mean _only_?” the dandy grumbled, faking an offended expression and drew himself nearer to where she stood. “I feel hurt, Éponine, it’s like you’ve already forgotten how close the two of us used to be.”

                “I haven’t forgotten,” the gamine shrugged, not batting an eyelash before this dangerous man’s taunting.  Montparnasse may have been a cold blooded killer, but she knew him well enough to know that he never hurt women, and no matter what threats he spewed, he would never lay a hand on her. “You said ‘it doesn’t suit you’,” she added, suddenly remembering his words of greeting. “What doesn’t suit me?” Éponine asked, more out of curiosity than actual interest.

                “You seemed deep in thought,” he lifted his cane to mockingly point at her and chuckled. “It doesn’t suit you. I always considered you as more of a doer than a thinker.”

                “Well you considered wrong,” Éponine snapped, irritation seeping through her voice as her gaze turned into a heated glare. “I’m not stupid, if that’s what you’re implying.”

                “I said no such thing!” the young man replied innocently, lowering his cane and lifting his free hand up in a defensive gesture, though he did not bother to hide the amused smirk on his lips. “You are infinitely brighter than all the women I’ve ever been with put together,” he added and flashed her one of his charming smiles that would melt the hearts of any weak-willed mademoiselle that would cross his path.

                “Now you’re just exaggerating,” the gamine said unfazed, brushing his compliment off like it was nothing as she slowly started to lose patience with the man’s antics. “So, what was it you wanted, ‘Parnasse?” she asked and eyed the assassin warily.

                The handsome young man responded with a shrug. “Nothing in particular,” he said in a seductive tone, leaning in and brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “Can’t old friends stop and chat with each other? I thought you would have been happy to see me,” he ran a finger on the side of her face as he leered at her. “Are you not happy to see me?”

                “I am neither happy nor upset,” Éponine deadpanned and pushed his hand away with her own. It was true, Montparnasse could hardly cause a stir anymore, even after all they had done together and how close they had been before. She had thought she loved him at one point in her life, but after meeting Marius, she realized the truth was far from it. The two men were such complete opposites she wondered how she could have ever been attracted to them both. Perhaps her taste in men was as strange as she was; that or perhaps what she truly needed was someone in-between, a mix of these two extremes. Still, her heart was already possessed by Marius, so what she wanted outweighed what she thought she needed in a man.

                “You’ve fallen deep in thought again,” he observed with a frown, once again startling her. “Are you thinking of that bourgeois boy of yours?” he sneered and took a step back to glower at her.

                Éponine was caught off guard by his question. How did he know about Marius? The only person who was aware of her affections for the young man was –

                “The blond one,” Montparnasse continued and she could see the corner of his eye twitch in anger as he spoke. “I still haven’t forgotten what that imbecile did to me,” he spat and his hold on his cane tightened visibly.

                Éponine blinked, feeling confused for a moment, then snorted as she remembered the particular incident. “It was your own fault, ‘Parnasse,” she snickered and ignored the scandalized look the dandy threw at her.

                He pursed his lips and glared daggers at the gamine. His face had become a light shade of red and she could clearly see the vein in his forehead pulsate in fury. “You know, I never thought you would ever waste your time with someone like that bourgeois pig,” he seethed. “A rich, good looking man like that will only use you and will not hesitate to toss you out like a rag once he is done with you.” Montparnasse had once again approached Éponine and was now leaning into her face with a vicious smirk on his lips that chilled her to the bone.

                The gamine bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from recoiling away from him. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing his words had hurt her heart, and even though the dandy was in fact referring to Enjolras in his speech, all Éponine could think of was Marius.  

                “And do you know why he will toss you out?” Montparnasse continued, bending his body so that his face was now only a breath away from hers. When she didn’t answer, he continued with venom seeping from his voice. “Because he can find better.”

                Éponine’s hand slapped the side of his cheek so suddenly and so hard that it left the assassin completely frozen on the spot. He blinked several times in shock, but before he managed to process what had just happened, the gamine had spun on her heels and dashed away down the busy street, away from him and his stabbing words.

                ‘ _Marius would never do that!_ ’ she thought as she sped down Rue St. Michel. She could not stand still, she needed to move; her heart was beating furiously inside her chest and she could feel her eyes filling with tears she would never shed.

                ‘ _Marius would never do that!’_ she kept telling herself, trying not to think of how this was most probably true, trying not to think about how in fact there was nothing for him to toss away.  

                She sprinted down the street, not looking back or forward, unaware as to where she was heading; her mind was too occupied with heartbreaking thoughts to even care where she went, and so she let her body decide for her. She ran for what felt like hours, passing hundreds of faces, hundreds of pairs of eyes that did not spare even the slightest of glances for this young, lost girl. ‘ _No one cares_ ’ she thought miserably, ‘ _why would he?_ ’

                Thoughts of Marius filled her mind, thoughts of his kindness, of his intelligence, of his boyish good looks, of his deep blue eyes that charmed her again and again. She loved him, that she knew and that she was sure of. Yet Éponine, who was neither stupid nor naïve, also knew that he did not share the same feelings, not for her at least. ‘ _Perhaps one day_ ’ she wished as she finally came to a halt after suddenly recognizing the street she now found herself on.

                The gamine raised her head and stared at the building that was Enjolras’ tenement and a disbelieving chuckle escaped her lips. ‘ _Guess my body knows what it needs better than my mind does,_ ’ she mused and shook her head bemusedly.

                This unexpectedly reminded her of the fact that Montparnasse had actually referred to the blond and not Marius when he had spoken those words to her. It made Éponine want to laugh. The idea that Enjolras would, _could_ , renounce her was truly laughable. ‘ _If anyone will do the tossing, it will be me._ ’

                It was amusing how much of a hold she had on the young man. It was so easy to gain control of him, to make him do her bidding; it was actually a bit too easy sometimes.

                She wondered how long this affair would last. ‘ _Until I find something better,’_ was what she told herself, but deep down she knew that the only one who could be deemed better was Marius and Marius alone. It might have been cruel of her to use Enjolras like this, but she always told herself that he was doing the same with her.

                The gamine stared at the large building before her and contemplated its aged façade. It was not as fancy as the more luxurious tenements that students of Enjolras’ wealth rented on this side of the Latin Quartier, but it was still worlds apart from her own shabby lodgings at the Gorbeau House.

                Without giving it any unnecessary thought, she entered the tenement and walked the already too familiar path towards Enjolras’ apartment: second floor, last door on the right; vis-à-vis his best friend Combeferre’s own flat. Éponine smiled as she thought of the two inseparable young men, who she knew shared a deep friendship the likes of which she had never known, and probably never would.

                It was a difficult thing to admit, but the truth was that she was jealous of Enjolras. He was wealthy, he had friends, probably had a family who actually cared for him, he was beautiful, he was educated… they truly were complete opposites. They had next to nothing in common, yet nevertheless here she was, sneaking into his home, seeking the comfort of his embrace and dying for just a small taste of him to help relieve a little bit of the unhappiness in her soul. 

                It did not take her long to reach his front door. Luckily the landlady was nowhere in sight and she managed to avoid being seen by any of his neighbors (she was her father’s daughter after all). For good measure, she chanced knocking twice, hoping that Enjolras would make things easy for her by being home, but typical of the busy student, he was not. It was probable he was still at the Musain, with his little band of student revolutionaries and Éponine wondered for a moment if Marius was there as well. She once again became lost in her thoughts until she remembered where she was and quickly pulled herself together, turning her concentration on the more pressing matter of getting herself inside Enjolras’ apartment.

                After glancing about her surroundings and making sure all was clear, the gamine stuck her hand inside her belt pocket and took out two old rusty hairpins that she took care to always carry around on her person should chance ever require their use.

                She crouched down on the floor and put an eye against the keyhole while closing the other to allow a better view. After figuring out the basic workings of the lock, she carefully inserted one of the hairpins into the lower part of the keyhole, and after easily determining which way the cylinder had to be turned, she applied a light torque to the hairpin in the right direction and held it so. Not wasting any time, the motions having been ingrained in her memory ever since she could remember, she quickly took the second pin and inserted into the upper part of the keyhole. Feeling the first pin of the lock, she pressed it with just enough pressure to overcome the spring’s own downward one until a faint click could be heard, signaling that pin number one had been beaten. It only took her a few more minutes to get all of the pins set, and she carefully used the pin on the lower part of the keyhole to turn the cylinder to complete the process and finally unlock the door.

                Éponine grinned proudly at her handiwork, and for once was grateful for her father’s Spartan teachings on the finer skills in the art of burglary.  

                She rose to her feet and after glancing around one last time, she opened the door, just as she would have in her own home and let herself into Enjolras’ flat.

* * *

 

                “What of the other organizations?” Enjolras asked, pen in one hand and his forehead in the other, while he sat hunched over an article he was writing on the importance General Lamaque’s death would have on the future of the country that he would soon send to various Parisian newspapers, in hopes some of them would do him the favor of publishing it.

                Combeferre, who stood a few paces away, leaning his back against the wall, stared at his best friend with a pensive look on his face. He had known Enjolras for the better part of his life; he knew all his quirks and characteristics, knew his habits, knew when he was angry, tired or, on rarer occasions, happy – basically, Enjolras was like an open book to him. ‘ _Or, at least he used to be,_ ’ the medical student pondered; recently it felt like the pages were being turned before he had the chance to read them in their entirety.

                It was perplexing how in the past few months, a slightly newer side of Enjolras had surfaced, one that the Guide had never before seen coming from his friend. He was more relaxed, he seemed to be sleeping better as far as he noticed from a medical standpoint, he actually smiled now and then, the frequent headaches that plagued the blond had become much scarcer and he just seemed in overall better spirits. And even though there was no one who was happier that Enjolras’ mood had taken a turn for the better, the change was too sudden. Even after a good amount of reflection on his best friend’s new behavior, for the first time in a long while Combeferre was at a complete loss, and that disturbed him more than he would care to admit. He had no idea what was happening, and Enjolras’ stubborn denial that there was something amiss definitely did not help.

                The Chief had always been a very reserved person, especially regarding his private life, but he would always falter when Combeferre asked the right questions. This time however, invisible walls surrounded the blond that even the Guide could not break down, and as his best friend, this saddened him.

                But even though the newer facets of Enjolras’ behavior were disconcerting, it was the sight of the Chief sitting at his usual table, hunched over his work with a deep frown lining his brow and nothing but concentration in his eyes which reminded Combeferre that in dire times like these, no matter the entanglements of his personal life, Enjolras still only had eyes for one thing: his beloved Patria. And this was reassuring.

                “Then that leaves the men of the _Barrière du Maine,” the Chief commented, still not lifting his gaze from his work. “We must send word of Lamarque’s condition to them at once,” he added and raised his eyes to briefly survey the room. “Any volunteers?”_

_“Allow me to offer my services to you, Enjolras,” Grantaire slurred and raised his bottle of absinth in the air. “Not even the true friendship between_ Damon and Pythias _can compare to the bond the lovely chaps from the Barrière and I have formed.”_

                “Absolutely not!” Enjolras snapped and glared at the drunkard reprovingly. “You are never to be sent on an away mission ever again, especially to the _Barrière du Maine._ Not after what happened last time.”

                Grantaire rolled his eyes and scoffed. “So little faith!” he grumbled. "Very well, I will just remain here and reflect on the sacrifice of Polyxena at the grave of Achilles while you all fret over your ill general.” He sighed dramatically as he plopped down on a chair and raised his feet to rest them on the table, his bottle of liquor secured safely in his grip.

                “Listen here, drunkard,” Enjolras warned and raised himself from his seat with an intense glower that he directed at Grantaire. “It is one thing for you to – “

                “Why don’t I go to the _Barrière_?” Courfeyrac quickly chimed in, and Combeferre was grateful for the Center’s always-impeccable timing.

                 Enjolras moved his piercing eyes away from Grantaire to his third in command and nodded. “Very well,” he approved and retook his seat, once again turning his attention back to his article.

                Combeferre took this opportunity to survey the room for a moment.

                The group of young men was animatedly chatting over glasses of wine or absinth about the new direction their efforts would go down from here on out. Their faces showed excitement, but the Guide’s trained eye could easily see the fear and uncertainty behind the gayety on their faces. No one knew what the future held in store, and that was something that could unsettle even the strongest of hearts.

                With that thought, he turned to look at the Chief, just as he was furiously scratching out whole sentences and mumbling God knew what under his breath while he replaced the deleted words with new ones. As a future doctor, Combeferre could not help but notice the prominent dark circles under Enjolras’ eyes, or the look of uneasiness on his face. He might not be able to guess what was on his mind as well as before, but luckily, the external signs he could not miss.

                “Enjolras,” he called out to his best friend just as the latter scratched out another long sentence.

                The blond looked up and gave the Guide an impatient look. “Yes?”

                “You seem to be having trouble with your article,” Combeferre observed sympathetically.  

                Enjolras sighed and took the papers in his hand to wearily examine his own writing. “I have finished it and have said all that needs to be said” he sighed and shook his head. “Now I just have to find a way to make it feel more relatable to the general public and less…” he waved his hand in the air as he tried to find the right words.

                “Radical?” Combeferre finished his sentence and gave him a knowing smile. “Enjolras, why don’t I finish the article for you,” he suggested, feeling sorry for his friend’s plight. “I know I will be able to soften up the rougher edges of your writing. I can take it with me home and I can also bring it to the post office first thing tomorrow morning on my way to the Necker. What say you?”

                Enjolras frowned and it was clear that he was not too taken with the idea; he had never liked receiving help from others or letting foreign hands touch his work, but seeing as it was Combeferre who asked, he was actually taking the offer into consideration.

                “Enjolras, you are tired,” the Guide observed and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And don’t try to tell me I am wrong” he added, stopping Enjolras just before he could protest. “You can deny it all you want, but I can tell you are weary and I can also tell the news of the General’s illness has unsettled you. And you are not the only one either,” he said and gestured to the rest of the students in the room. “Everyone is stressed and uneasy right now. Perhaps we need to call it a night and take some time to think of what has happened.”

                “There is no time for that!” Enjolras snapped and slammed his palm on the table’s surface, looking thoroughly affronted. “We do not know how much time Lamarque has. We cannot afford to waste any time!”

                “And I know that,” Combeferre reasoned patiently. “However, working yourself, or us, to exhaustion will not benefit our cause in any way. On the contrary, this is a time in which we must keep a clear head, as important decisions will soon have to be made, and we cannot allow stress or weariness to cloud our judgment. Not now.”

                An odd look flashed over the Chief’s face. He seemed to be considering something and he did not seem to like what he was thinking. Most peculiar.

                “Enjolras,” Combeferre added with a kind smile, “you must understand that your mind will not be able to function properly without a sound body. Unfortunately, there are some things you just cannot control.”

                Enjolras’ eyes widened and he looked like he had just received a slap to the face. Combeferre knew the idea that there were things the Chief could not control mortified him, but the words needed to be said.

                “I formally propose we end tonight’s meeting right now,” Combeferre said and he tried to add as much authority in his tone as he could, without sounding like he was giving out orders, “and I insist you go home and get some rest. Doctor’s orders!”

                Enjolras grit his teeth and glared at the medical student; he almost looked like a child who was being told to go to bed early. Amusing as it was, Combeferre didn’t like playing the part of the strict parent, but if that was the only way to make his friend listen, then he would willingly assume this role.

                With a defeated sigh, Enjolras finally put his pen down and rose from his seat. “Are you coming as well?” he asked as he donned his jacket and was ready to take his leave.

                Combeferre shook his head. “You go on, I will stay here and finish things up.”

                “’Ferre, I still think I should – “ Enjolras began, but the Guide had already anticipated this last attempt at a protest and quickly cut him off.

                “Go home, Enjolras” he said kindly, but sternly.

                With a final scoff, the Chief reluctantly nodded and after bidding his goodbyes to the other students and calling the meeting officially over, he left the backroom of the Musain and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

 

                The door shut closed behind Éponine as she entered Enjolras’ apartment.

                It was a strange feeling standing in the middle of his sitting room without him being there to either try to kick her out of his house or fuck her brains out on the floor, as it usually happened when they were both in the same room.

                The flat was not as lavish as one would have expected from a bourgeois such as Enjolras. It was a simple two-room apartment, scarcely decorated with elegant but old furniture. He kept it tidy save for his desk which was a mess of papers, books and pens, all thrown in what looked like complete disarray. Though knowing Enjolras, even the mess probably had a certain logic to it.

                There were two large bookshelves filled to the brim with books and tomes, on what subjects, Éponine had no idea; she had read the names Voltaire, Rousseau and Diderot on some of them, names she recognized, but knew next to nothing about.

                The one piece of lavishness in the flat was the large, elegant sofa, which was the centerpiece of the sitting room. It was made from red velvet and mahogany, and to the gamine, whose own bed was nothing but an old mattress and a patched up dirty blanket, this piece of furniture looked like it had been made for a king. She assumed that to a bourgeois, this sofa was probably nothing out of the ordinary, but to her, it was more beautiful than a royal throne.

                Her eyes then fell on the table in front of it where the large bowl of apples was placed in its center. Éponine considered taking one, as she felt her stomach rumble from hunger. She refrained however, remembering how several nights ago she had offered one of those apples to Marius, only to be gently turned down and told to give it to her younger sister. She had appreciated the young man’s kindness, but she had not been able to help the disappointment in her heart at not getting to eat the apples with the boy she loved.

                Shaking her head, she pushed all thoughts of Marius aside, as this was not the time to become melancholic, and made her way to the bedroom, where she planned to wait for the master of the house to return.

                The bedroom was much smaller than the sitting room and also much simpler. The only pieces of furniture that decorated the room were a bed, a dresser and a smaller bookcase, with books that looked much more worn than those in the sitting room. ‘ _Enjolras probably has a habit of reading them before bed_ ’ she mused. It made sense that his sleeping quarter was so plain, as he did not spend much time in the bedroom, apart from sleeping or sleeping with her.

                With a lopsided grin, she lazily undressed herself and lay down on the bed in waiting. ‘ _He should have a difficult time refusing me like this_ ’ she thought wickedly, knowing well how weak Enjolras became at the sight of her bare body.

                Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty; Éponine tossed and turned in the sheets, feeling as if seconds were turning into minutes, and minutes into hours. She was never the impatient type, but at this moment, as the memory of her previous conversation with ‘Parnasse was still fresh in her mind, and so was her anger, Enjolras could not get there soon enough

                She cursed the blond for his tardiness, but she knew getting even more frustrated would not make time go faster, so she resorted to the only thing that could calm her down and help the minutes pass: dreaming of Marius.       

                With a smile, the gamine closed her eyes and let her mind wander to the sweet boy who, no matter what, always made her feel better. She imagined him lying on his side next to her, resting his head oh his hand and looking down on her with that kind smile she adored.  

                ‘ _You’re so beautiful, ‘Ponine_ ’ she heard him say and could actually feel his hand gently brush against her shoulder. His fingers softly trailed the smooth skin of her arm, down to her elbow then back up. She smiled contently as she felt his hand slowly move to her collarbone, then to her chest and finally reaching the swell of her breast.

                Éponine inhaled sharply and opened her eyes to see that it was her own fingers that had involuntarily found their way to her soft mound. She considered removing them but Marius’ image fought its way back into her mind and his hand (or, in reality, her hand) cupped her breast and gave it a gentle squeeze. A tiny moan escaped her lips when Marius began pinching and flicking his thumb against her erect nipple. The thought that the fingers that were teasing here were his and not her own made her heart beat violently in her chest, and the pressure in her core steadily built up to a dull ache.

                ‘ _You are amazing, Éponine. You feel so good,_ ’ she could hear him whisper in her ear and it made her shiver. She brought her free hand go cup the other breast and her body writhed in agony as she massaged the silky flesh.

                “Marius!” she groaned as he teasingly tugged and rolled her rosy tips between his thumb and middle finger.

                The tingling sensation between her legs was becoming even more pronounced, and she would have died to have Marius extinguish the blazing fire in her core. She opened her eyes and saw the young baron was now looming on top of her, looking at her with adoration in his crystal clear blue eyes. She could actually count each freckle on his nose. ‘ _I love you, ‘Ponine_ ’ she heard him sigh and she hummed in bliss as he placed soft kisses on her neck.

                “Take me!” she mumbled, losing the ability to properly articulate the words, and her hand slowly began its descent to the apex of her legs. Her fingers brushed against her folds, feeling the moistness of her arousal and she whimpered as she began slowly drawing circles around her swollen clit.

                Instead of seeing her index and middle fingers stroking her sex, Éponine saw a large hand clenched around a hardened cock, rubbing the shaft’s head against her, parting her folds, and settling against her opening, ready to bury itself into her wet depths.

                Just as she was about to impale herself, she looked up and froze. A surprised gasp escaped her mouth as she stared in shock at the image of a nude Enjolras holding her pelvis up to his own, looking back at her with a dark expression on his face. His blond locks clung to his damp forehead, his cheeks were a deep red color and beads of sweat covered his entire body as he pressed his erection against her slit, his whole frame shivering in desperate need.

                ‘ _‘Ponine you’re perfect!_ ’ She started at the sound of Marius’ voice and she realized he was actually still there. She was now leaning with her back against his bare chest and could feel his hands caressing her arms and shoulders lovingly; placing small kisses on the soft skin of her nape.

                 Éponine glanced from the brunet, who was holding her tightly to his chest, who whispered sweet nothings in her ear and who gazed at her adoringly, to the blond who was holding her waist up, ready to plunge his length inside of her, looking at her like a starving man looked at a three-course meal.

                Her heart was beating furiously inside her chest and her breathing was coming in short, ragged pants. She didn’t think she had ever felt more aroused in her life; there was a fire in her core that needed to be put out, lest she would surely burst into flames.

                Unable to hold back any longer, she drove her fingers insider her wet sheath, crying out as she imagined Enjolras’ cock fill her to the hilt, and she could have sworn she heard him growl at that moment.

                Her body arched and she writhed in torment as Enjolras pumped into her in a slow, insistent rhythm while Marius trailed warm kisses on her shoulder. She steadily increased the tempo of her hand, moving it up and down, and then in circles, arching her fingers to reach the sensitive spot in her center that sent electric shocks throughout her body. Her hips gyrated against her hand, desperate for more friction and pressure on her throbbing sex. Seeing the image of Enjolras ramming into her with that pained expression only she knew he wore whenever he was fighting back release had Éponine moaning and gasping in ecstasy with each incredible thrust.

                Feeling her climax approaching, she hastened the motions of her hand, pumping her fingers into her slit so fast her arm begun to ache. But she pushed the pain aside and focused on the thought of Enjolras slamming his erection into her with everything he had.

                ‘ _Let him take you_ ,’ she heard Marius whisper in her ear. When she turned to gaze at him in confusion she realized he was no longer there, and the only thing she could now see was the blond revolutionary moving deeply within her, looking at her with such desire it took her breath away.

                “ENJOLRAS!” she screamed as her body quaked in rapture and she could have sworn she had exploded into a thousand pieces at that moment. She gasped for air and shivered as the strain of her orgasm died down and she slowly reclaimed control of her body.

                After her vision refocused, she realized Enjolras and Marius had both disappeared. She was now alone in the middle of the revolutionary’s bed, with her back resting against the pillow, sweat dripping down her skin, legs sprawled open and hand still tucked between her legs.

                She closed her eyes and tried to replay what had just happened in her mind. Why had Enjolras suddenly appeared? Why was it him that fucked her and not Marius? Why had Marius disappeared and left her alone with him? ‘ _Let him take you,_ ’ imaginary Marius had told her and she frowned at the memory. 

                ‘ _Take me where?_ ’ she asked herself, thoroughly confused by her own imagination. ‘ _Perhaps he meant to let him take me in a sexual way? Or perhaps –_ ‘

                “Éponine?”

                The gamine’s eyes snapped open her head shot up in surprise. She stiffened when her gaze fell on a pair of steely blue eyes glaring down at her from the doorway.

                Éponine gulped and smiled sheepishly. “Evening, Enjolras.”

* * *

_One hour ago…_

                ‘ _There are some things you just cannot control._ ’

                Combeferre’s words rang in his ears as he marched down Rue St. Michel on his way home after being practically forced to leave his own meeting.

                Enjolras was fuming, and was glad the road was deserted at the moment; it would have been bad for him to take his anger out on some poor soul who would be unfortunate to cross his path right now.

                ‘ _There are some things you just cannot control._ ’

                These words had felt like a punch to the stomach, yet somehow, he could not get them out of his head. He knew Combeferre had meant well when he had spoken them, but the fact remained that they had filled him with doubt in his own abilities and had caused the feeling of uncertainty he was fighting back spread throughout his body like poison. Enjolras despised feeling weak or insecure, and this was not the time to let his _emotions_ get in the way of reason.

                He was angry, tired, afraid, and the news of Lamarque’s illness had still yet to fully sink in. He genuinely did not know if this was truly advantageous for them, but it was now his responsibility to make sure it would be. It was imperative he pushed away the grief and anxiety he felt right now so as to let himself be consumed by the plans that needed his undivided attention.

                After a while he finally reached his flat and as he was about to unlock his front door, he noticed, to his surprise, that it was in fact open. Enjolras frowned. He had never forgotten to lock his door before. There was no chance he could possibly be so careless.

                Warily, he slowly opened the door and stepped into his apartment. His eyes dashed around the sitting room, trying to assess if someone had indeed trespassed into his home, but as far as he could tell, everything was in the same place as they were when he had left this morning. Nevertheless, he walked to his desk from behind which he pulled out his canne and stealthily made his way to his bedroom as he noticed the door to the room was ajar. He stopped in his tracks as a soft whimpering sound came from behind it and he unconsciously tightened his hold on the canne. He carefully nudged the door open, just enough so he could get a decent view of the room, without being noticed in return.

                He froze.

                Enjolras had to blink a few times and shake his head to make sure that what he was seeing was reality and not a product of his weary mind.

                Lying completely bare on his bed was Éponine, who was squirming and moaning as her hands eagerly fondled her small breasts.

                The blond inhaled sharply at the sight of the gamine touching herself like that. He had absolutely no idea why she was there, or why she was doing this, but he could not help but admire how erotic she looked and how consumed by pleasure she was.

                He swallowed hard when her fingers pinched her rosy nipples, the action forcing soft mewling sounds out of her mouth and he bit his lip as he felt his manhood become hard in his trousers. He was mesmerized by the sight of what she was doing to herself, and just as he considered entering and literally take matters into his own hands, Éponine went and said the one word he had not wanted to hear right now: “Marius!”

                Fury welled up within Enjolras and his hold on the canne tightened so much it was a good thing the stick was sturdy or else it would have been crushed by the force of his grip.

                How could she?! How dared she think of Marius while she satisfied herself in his home?! In his bed!

                The revolutionary had a mind to storm in there and drag the gamine out and throw her out of his apartment once and for all, but as Éponine’s hand began traveling downwards, he found himself once again staring powerlessly at her as she began stroking herself between the legs. Her mouth let out soft pleasured sounds as her small fingers traced her folds and circled her clit in slow motions.

                “Take me!” she mumbled and he started, almost worried that he had been caught, but Enjolras realized that was not the case as she still seemed lost in her own little world.  

                The blond’s own breath started to come in harsher and he could feel sweat wetting his brow as he became more and more aroused. He felt slightly ashamed of watching her in such an intimate moment, but seeing as she was the one who was trespassing and had no business being there in the first place made him a little more at ease with the situation.

                Suddenly, the gamine’s movements stopped. The girl was frowning and her gaze moved from one place to the other, as if staring between two separate things only she could see and looking thoroughly confused. After a few moments, it seemed she had reached some sort of decision and her hands restarted their circling motions against her sex.

                Éponine cried out as she inserted two fingers into her slit and Enjolras, in turn, could not contain the growl that escaped his lips as he stared at the fascinating sight. Fortunately for him, the gamine was too much under the spell of her fantasies to catch his slip-up and she continued to thrust her fingers inside her center, blissfully unaware of the hungry pair of eyes that were gazing at her.

                 Her body writhed in torment as her fingers relentlessly pumped into her core. She rocked her hips against her hand and her face scrunched up in ecstasy while the soft pleasured sounds he knew so well filled the air around her.

                He couldn’t believe how captivating Éponine was right now. There was something so sensual and familiar in the way she moved that it reminded him of every single time the two of them had been intimate. Enjolras could tell she was getting close to climax, he knew the signs so well by now: the way her body swayed, the sounds she made, the look of pure bliss on her face. It was as if he was staring at one of their own sexual encounters, except he was now erased from the picture and probably replaced by that idiot Pontmercy.

                “ENJOLRAS!” she suddenly screamed and her body jerked violently for a few moments in complete rapture before relaxing completely and entering her regular post orgasmic daze.

                The blond stared at the gamine with wide eyes, completely taken aback by what had just occurred. She had screamed his name. She had screamed his name while climaxing. But what about Pontmercy?

                He had no idea what had happened, all he knew was that his heart was beating unnaturally fast and somehow, a large part of his anger towards the girl had completely evaporated, leaving only a strange fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach that he could find no logical explanation for. He gazed at the gamine as she tried to level her breathing and he could not help but think how beautiful she looked right now.

                Before he could stop himself, he pushed the door open, stepped inside the bedroom, and halted at the foot of the doorway.

                “Éponine?”

* * *

                They stared at each other awkwardly for what felt like an eternity and they both seemed to be trying to find the words to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen upon the room.

                Enjolras’ blue eyes bore into her as he stared with pursed lips and an unreadable expression on his face.

                Éponine’s cheeks were on fire and she cursed herself for feeling so embarrassed at being caught in such a state. She fidgeted under his intense glare and it was only when his eyes started traveling down her body and stopped at the apex of her legs that she realized her fingers were stilled buried deep within her center.

                Trying to rid herself of her shame, as she didn’t enjoy being the one in the compromising position, she forced a wry smile on her lips and gently unsheathed her fingers from her slit. “How long have you been watching?” she asked as nonchalantly as possible and raised her soaked hand to casually examine it.

                “Long enough,” he said tersely, his eyes following her hand as she wiped it of her juices on his sheets. “Why are you here?” he asked and returned his gaze to stare her in the face.

                The gamine shrugged. “I came to see you,” she answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and raised her eyes to meet his stony ones. “But then I got tired of waiting,” she added and flashed him a brazen smirk.

                “I gathered,” Enjolras deadpanned. He looked as if he was already bored with the conversation, but Éponine could tell there was something off about him, though she could not quite figure out what it was.

                “How long were you watching?” she asked again, in the hopes of gauging the smallest reaction out of him, as his phlegmatic countenance was making her slightly uneasy. 

                “I told you, long enough,” he replied simply and turned away from the gamine to stare out the window, now even refusing to look at her.

                As annoying as his behavior was, she could not help but admire his strong profile as he pensively gazed into the distance, his still rosy cheeks and his glistening brow made his handsome face even more appealing than usual. For a moment, Éponine compared the Enjolras from her fantasy, who had gazed at her with intense passionate eyes as if she had been the only thing that mattered in the world, to this real Enjolras before her, who barely acknowledged her presence and the only emotion she could see was an odd flicker in his eyes she did not really understand.

                “You screamed my name,” he suddenly asked, startling her out of her reverie.

                “W-what?” she stuttered and felt her skin once again grow hot. ‘ _Did he actually watch the whole thing?_ ’ she thought mortified.

                “You screamed my name,” he repeated himself, not removing his gaze from the windowpane. “Why?”

                “That does not concern you!” Éponine snapped, starting to feel like a cornered animal and a bit self-conscious about the fact that she was still completely naked on his bed.

                “You are in _my_ house, in _my_ bed and you cried out _my_ name. In a rather interesting moment may I add? I should think these are enough reasons for me to be concerned,” he retorted and there was a strict way in which he said it that made Éponine even more cross.

                “Well, I do not want to talk about it,” she said with finality in her voice, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him in defiance, daring him to fight her over this.

                His eyes flashed to her face for an instant before returning to contemplate the world beyond the four walls of his bedroom. Silence fell and after a while, Éponine thought the blond had actually forgotten about her, until he finally spoke again. “How did you get in here?” he asked and this time there was genuine curiosity behind his words.

                The gamine smirked. “I have my ways.”

                “I locked the door,” he added with a frown, “and I live on the second floor.”

                “You would be surprised what one can do with just a pair of hairpins and a good amount of dexterity,” she chuckled and raised her head in pride over her own skills.

                Enjolras’ brows rose to his forehead, but he still did not turn to face her. “You picked my lock?” he asked in disbelief. “Where did you learn something like that?”

                “There are many useful things to be learned on the streets, Monsieur.” She shrugged like it was nothing, and frankly, if she had to compare it to the things she had seen others do throughout her lifetime, then lock picking truly was nothing.

                “This is not a skill a girl like you should know,” Enjolras commented and the frown returned to his brow.

                Éponine’s body straightened and she stared at him in indignation. “Well, excuse me for learning things that help me stay alive!” she spat, feeling fully offended by his words. This man had no idea what fighting for survival meant and he was the last person in the world who had the right to judge her.  “Or would you prefer I start selling my body for a few sous?! Surely that is a skill a _girl like me_ can know, how to be a good fuck. “

                “Stop it!” Enjolras exclaimed and she noticed a troubled look flashing in his eyes for a brief moment. “You know that was not my intention.”

                When she refused to respond and simply glared at him, he continued. “I just meant you should not have to resort to breaking the law in order to survive. That is why I am fighting, it is for people like you that we strive to – “

                “Don’t speak of what you do not know, you stupid bourgeois boy!” Éponine barked, feeling the rage and frustration from before returning to her ten times stronger. How dare this man think she needed someone to fight for her or to give her a better life? He knew nothing about her; he knew nothing of what she had gone through, and the thought that this is what he believed she wanted infuriated her.  He was so naive to think he could get the citizens of this city to join his little war, there was no chance he would ever be able to reach out the hearts of the miserable people. She saw it every day, she felt it on her own skin, hope had long been lost and nothing he would do could change that. “There are things you will never understand,” she said, malice dripping from her voice, “just as there are things you will never be able to control.”

                Enjolras’ head snapped round to face her so fast it made the gamine jump in surprise. He stared at her with wide blazing eyes and whereas his face was devoid of emotion a few moments ago, now the rage on his face was as clear as daylight.

                Éponine however did not waver under the heat of his glower, her own anger bubbling inside too strongly to be intimidated by this fool. If he wanted a fight, she would give him one he would remember for the rest of his life.

                Silently, the revolutionary stalked over to stand at the foot of the bed, his intense eyes not leaving hers for a second. “You’ve got some nerve,” he said through gritted teeth and she could see the prominent vein in his forehead pulsating in fury. “You break into my home, pleasure yourself on my own bed, and now you have the audacity to call me stupid to my face? To say that I don’t know anything or that I can’t control – “ He faltered and took a deep breath, and for a moment Éponine thought he looked distressed.

                She stared at the young man in confusion. She had never seen him like this before; he was pale and there was something akin to insecurity in his countenance that she never thought would come from someone like him. Had she not known who she was looking at, she would have said he looked afraid. “Enjolras” she said softly, and was surprised to hear actual worry in her voice, “has something happened? You look unwell.”

                “That is none of your concern,” the blond snapped back with a snarl and his eyes began measuring her from head to toe, while his breathing started coming in rougher than before.

                Éponine felt herself blush under his scrutiny and it would be a lie if she said the hungry expression on his face did not send a shiver down her spine.

                “Turn around,” Enjolras ordered and somehow, she could not find the power within her to say no. So she obliged, rolling over so that she was lying on her stomach with her back towards him. The tingling sensation once again resurfaced in her core and she bit her lip in anticipation for what he was going to do next.

                Suddenly, Enjolras grabbed her by the ankles and yanked her to him so hard she yelped in surprise, and he did not stop until her knees were resting at the edge of the bed on either side of his body. His hands found her waist and roughly lifted her pelvis so that she was now on her shins, while her chest still lay on the soft bed sheets.

                Her eyes widened at the sound of his trousers hitting the floor and the excitement for what was coming next made her whole frame tremble. The young man had never taken the initiative like this before. It had always been she who always made the first move, yet here he was, ordering and moving her as if she were nothing but a toy. It aroused her more than she could ever have imagined.

                Éponine gasped when two of his fingers found her slit and gently spread her folds apart. She could not see what was happening, but the sensitivity of that area made her aware of even the smallest of motions he made. While two fingers were keeping her folds apart, another pair found her opening and slowly eased themselves inside of her. She moaned loudly as he began pumping into her core with a steady rhythm. His large fingers felt so different and so much better than her small ones, he had a deeper reach and the knowledge that someone else’s hand was touching her in the most intimate part of her body made the experience infinitely more intense.

                “It appears as though the effects from your previous activity are quite long lasting,” he observed in a low voice and removed his hands from her center, pretending like he had not heard her protesting whine. He placed his palms on her behind and Éponine could feel just how drenched they were as he wiped himself of her juices on her own skin; just as she had done on his sheets, she observed amusedly.

                The gamine started when she felt Enjolras press the tip of his erection against her opening; she wasn’t expecting him to get to it so quickly, but apparently he was just as eager as she was. She screamed when his cock at last impaled her in one powerful thrust that shook her to her core.

                They both groaned as he started thrusting into her rapidly, and his length filled her so completely she felt like she might explode. He rocked her body to his rhythm as he fiercely pounded into her and she bit her lip in elation as the sloshing sound of their bodies joining filled her ears.

                “You’re too wet,” Enjolras suddenly growled in frustration, and faster than it took the gamine to fully understand what was happening, he unsheathed his erection from her throbbing core, forced her legs closed so that her thighs were touching, and hurriedly drove back into her, burying himself to the hilt in one wild motion.

                Éponine’s mouth opened in a wide ‘o’ shape, but no noise came out, all the air having been knocked out of her lungs by the force of his thrust.

                “Oh God!” he cried out and the added friction made rough noises come from his mouth among a slew of curses he could not stop muttering. He plunged his hard manhood into her tight heat with animalistic passion, and the way their sexes roughly rubbed against each other made both of their heads spin. He began pulling her to him by the hips so that their bodies met halfway with loud, wet slapping noises and the added power was so intense it made Éponine’s eyes water to the point where her vision became blurry and unfocused.

                “Never. Break. Into. My. Home. Again!” Enjolras growled with each violent push against her slit. “Do you understand?” he barked and accentuated the sentence by ramming into her so hard she felt as if he was going to tear her apart.

                “YES!” she screamed, and it was in that moment that her body shook uncontrollably in a blinding, explosive moment of release, her orgasm so intense she couldn’t believe her body hadn’t shattered into a million pieces.

                Enjolras cursed loudly and his grip on her hips tightened so hard Éponine was sure she would have bruises the next morning. After only a few more thrusts he bucked within her and with a roar he burst inside of her and she could feel his body quiver while he poured his seed into her. Panting harshly, he removed his sex from hers and collapsed on the bed beside her in an exhausted heap.

                Éponine couldn’t even bring herself to change her position, her body was spent and numb, and her sight had yet to fully come back to her. She glanced at Enjolras and when her eyes finally came into focus she noticed the troubled look on his face.

                Usually, after sex, the blond would resort to lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a vacant expression and avoiding as much interaction with Éponine as possible. This time, while his position was the same and he was still ignoring her, his brow formed a deep frown and his eyes were moving frantically in his sockets, like there were multiple invisible roads in front of him and he was trying to follow them all to see where they led.

                “Are you all right?” the girl asked softly before she could stop herself and managed to get up to sit on her knees next to him. Her body was sore, but somehow it did not feel right to lie in bed beside this man for too long at a time, especially when he appeared as disturbed as he was now.

                Instead of answering, the revolutionary covered his face with his hands and inhaled deeply. For a terrifying moment Éponine thought he was going to cry, but when he removed his palms, his eyes were as dry as they had ever been.

                “Leave,” he said simply, and there was something akin to begging behind his tone that was deeply unsettling.

                She stared at him for a moment. Éponine wanted to say something but she had no idea what that was. Wordlessly, she got off the bed and dressed herself as quickly as her tired body allowed and with one last glance at Enjolras’ unmoving form she silently let herself out of his bedroom and then his flat. 

                As the gamine exited the tenement and walked out into the warm spring night, she couldn’t help but turn and look up to the blond’s window one more time before she left. Something had happened today that had disturbed Enjolras, and while she had no idea what that was, she knew that she had made his bad mood worse. Normally, she would have thought sex would benefit the revolutionary’s state of mind, but apparently tonight was quite the opposite.

                Éponine sighed. ‘ _I hope he will overcome whatever it is that’s troubling him,_ ’ she thought sadly, and turned away from his building to begin her trek towards the Gorbeau House, for once thinking of problems that were other than her own.

                Enjolras was upset with her, and it was an unexpectedly depressing thought. 

               

                 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. For those of you who do not know, a 'canne' is the weapon used in Canne Combat, aka Single Sticks, the martial art Enjolras is said to practice. Hope you like it, and I promise to try and keep the chapters a bit shorter next time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is chapter 4 at last.
> 
> Sorry it took me so long, guys, but I've been on vacation and also had a lot of stuff going on this past month, so writing has been a bit difficult.
> 
> And I know I promised to keep the next chapter shorter than the previous, but with the format I chose for this fic, and since a lot of things are going on in each chapter (stupid plots), the chances of them growing shorter are slim, but I hope you'll still read it and like it nonetheless.
> 
> Once again, massive thanks to ThinksInWords for looking the chapter over and being awesome. Also thanks to all the girls over at the Enjonine forum for being so supportive.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter, more notes at the bottom.

_May 10 th 1832_

                “I have spoken with my contact about the twenty rifles, Enjolras,” Feuilly reported, tipping his straw top-hat and looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “I’ve also spoken with that retired National Guard member and I should acquire the two satchels of gunpowder shortly before week is done.”

                “Good man!” the chief nodded approvingly and clasped the fan maker’s shoulder. Leave it to Feuilly to be ever efficient in whatever task may be given to him; another reason why he deserved the Chief’s unwavering respect and reverence.

                Enjolras patted the young man on the back once more and let him go about his other business while he took to look at the backroom of the Musain, which was filled with energy and intense discussion as Les Amis de l’ABC planned and plotted the next surely eventful days to come.

                After more than a week had passed since the news of General Lamarque’s illness had been released to the general public, the question on how this will affect the country and her people was on everyone’s lips. To the secret student-led republican organizations the answer had become universally clear: Revolution.

                After several meetings filled with debates, disagreements and then agreements, the leaders of the larger societies had, after many arguments, finally come to the conclusion that Lamarque would become the spark that would set off their rebellion. Enjolras, as one of those leaders had been slightly wary of agreeing to this at first, feeling that many of the young students would not be prepared for battle quite yet, but the passionate speeches of the veteran members of La Societé des Amis du Peuple – Arago, Galois, Cavaignac and Blanqui – had convinced him that in truth, their best bet at inflicting change was to take advantage of this opportunity and the best way to fight was through conspiracy and careful planning.

                And it was a good thing he had agreed. Finally having a plan set in place and a direct path to follow gave Enjolras a sorely needed feeling of security. The grief, anxiety and uncertainty he had felt when he had first learned of the General’s plight had now been replaced by acceptance, excitement, and most importantly, hope.

                Still, the weariness and stress that came with it were not making his job very easy. As the Chief, a large part of the responsibility of the revolution’s success weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had to lead les Amis de l’ABC, not only on the battlefront but behind the front lines as well.

                Procuring weapons, writing articles, giving speeches, rallying the people… these had all now become central parts of Enjolras’ daily routine and he scarcely had time for anything else. His schoolwork had begun to suffer, his hobbies had been forgotten, if not completely abandoned, even sleeping or eating had started being neglected. That is until Combeferre had one day angrily confronted him about it, with the frustrating addition of another unnecessarily long lecture on the importance of good sleeping habits and maintaining a healthy diet by Joly, who just could not help but interfere whenever health was the topic of discussion.

                Had he not enjoyed doing what he did, the physical and mental pressure he was feeling surely would have bested him long ago. But his passion and love for Patria held far greater importance than his own health or sanity. He was not fighting for himself, after all.

                ‘ _Speaking of passion,_ ’ Enjolras was hit by a sudden thought, ‘ _I wonder what has become of Éponine._ ’

                The blond had tried to keep his mind off the gamine in the ten days since their last encounter; sometimes he succeeded and sometimes, when he found himself in more idle moments, she stubbornly found her way back into his thoughts, tearing his logic and concentration at the seams.

                His days were for the most part too hectic to have time to think of the girl, a thing he was thankful for. At night however, the moment his body collapsed onto his bed, a hundred images of her invaded his mind like an infection. He could almost see Éponine touching herself on his bed, feel the dampness of his sheets, wet with a mixture of her sweat and arousal, and smell her scent on his pillows… The longest he had lasted until his hand found his erection was fifteen minutes.

                Enjolras was not unaccustomed to stimulating himself sexually; before Éponine, it was his primary method, alongside Canne de Combat, of releasing pent-up stress and relieving some of the pressure from his body. But now, it had reached a point where he was unable to sleep in his own bed without having to expel the invasive thoughts of the gamine out of his body.

                The fact that Éponine still managed to find her way into his mind, regardless of how angry she had made him ten days ago, was confusing, if not somewhat irritating.

                The words she had directed at him had felt like heated daggers in his stomach, and even though he had regretted the roughness with which he had treated her afterwards, Enjolras still felt considerably bitter about it.

                ‘ _It would be a pity to end it like this, but perhaps it is better this way,_ ’ he thought as he walked towards the window and leaned against the wall, staring blindly down at the dark streets, looking but not truly seeing anything. It was a habit of his that aided him in his thinking; he didn’t know why it helped, but it gave him a peace of mind that nothing else could. And strangely, he found that recently, he would resort to this habit whenever his mind wandered to Éponine.

                ‘ _I wonder what she is doing right now._ ’

* * *

 

                ‘ _There he goes, staring out the window again._ ’

                It had always been a fairly common occurrence for Enjolras to settle himself in a quiet corner of the Musain’s backroom and gaze out the window pensively. It was something he would resort to whenever there was not much to do, or when there was a lack of conversations that were of any interest to him. But never had this habit of his come up as often as it had in the past several days, and in such hectic times as these no less.

                It was yet another oddity that had recently surfaced in Enjolras’ behavior, and Combeferre had no clue whether he should ignore it, or be seriously concerned. Where he had seemed as, if not more relaxed ten days ago than he had been even before their involvement with the republican movement, now Enjolras seemed tenser than ever. Although granted, the work he had to do and the fatigue that came with it were more than enough reasons for this erratic change of moods, the Guide still couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was amiss with his dear friend.

                ‘ _It could still be due to exhaustion or stress,_ ’ the doctor in him reasoned, ‘ _but that would be too simple._ ’ And given who the man in question was, there was a high probability that there were more complex reasons behind this brooding atmosphere surrounding him than not.

                Combeferre for a moment considered going up to his best friend and asking what the matter was, but he never got the chance as he was suddenly startled by a hand gently clasping his shoulder. He turned to see it was Courfeyrac, smiling at him tiredly and who had bent down to speak so that his words would be heard over the din that filled the room.

                “’Ferre, I believe it is time we call this meeting to an end,” the Center said, and no sooner had the words left his mouth that his body shook as he stifled a yawn. “There has been enough work done for one day, and take no offense, but if I have to hear Enjolras order me around one more time tonight I am afraid I will stain my new shirt in his blood,” he quipped, and even though he was smiling, his hand clenched around the Guide’s shoulder painfully. The young man’s patience had obviously reached its breaking point.

                “Well, we cannot have that, can we?” Combeferre grimaced at the dark haired student’s morbid words and after quickly glancing at his pocket watch, he had to agree that it was indeed past what one would call reasonable working hours.

                “Dear Heavens, it is already two in the morning,” he groaned and removed his spectacles to rub the weariness out of his eyes. It had been such a busy day that he had not even realized how exhausted he truly was. “Send the boys home,” the medical student nodded at Courfeyrac as he placed his glasses back to their rightful place on his nose. “Will you notify Enjolras, or shall I?”

                “I am leaving the honors to you, my friend” the other man answered and gestured towards their brooding leader. “He seems to be in his own world right now and I am certain I do not wish to be the one to reel him back down to Earth.” And with that, he patted Combeferre on the shoulder sympathetically and left to dismiss the other Amis.

                With a defeated sigh, the Guide rose from his seat and sauntered over to where the blond stood, waiting until the room was emptied out before calling out to the pensive young man. He couldn’t help but be a little impressed by Enjolras’ ability to stay so focused on something to the point where he lost contact with the world around him. Not even the shuffling of tables and chairs, the chatter and laughter, and the sound of the door slamming shut a dozen times over did not manage to shake him out of his reverie.

                After Courfeyrac, who was the last person remaining departed with a nod in Combeferre’s direction and a quick worried glance in Enjolras’, the Guide finally approached his best friend and gently tapped him on the shoulder. “Enjolras?”

                The blond started and his head shot up to look at the young doctor. After blinking a few times in confusion, his eyes quickly darted around his surroundings and he frowned. “Where is everyone?”

                “Gone,” Combeferre answered, “they went home. It is already past two in the morning and some still have to work or attend class today, you being one among them, may I add?”

                Enjolras scoffed. “I do not have time for school, ‘Ferre,” he waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal and straightened himself. “Why did no one ask me whether I agreed with ending our meeting?”

                “You seemed a tad preoccupied; no one wanted to bother you,” Combeferre gave his friend a weak smile. “That, and everyone thought you would notice when the room started to empty.”

                The Chief once again blinked in confusion, then his eyebrows shot up to his forehead and a horrified look dawned on his face. He groaned and ran one of his hands through his unruly curls. “Christ, ‘Ferre, you should have said something! I must have looked like a complete fool!” He flashed the other man a heated glare and stalked over to his table where he sank in his chair with a huff.

                Combeferre shrugged. “I do not think that waking you from your daydreams qualifies as one of the Guide’s duties,” he deadpanned, not feeling insulted by his friend’s remark; if anything, he was slightly amused by Enjolras’ embarrassment. “I must applaud you however,” he added with a grin, “not many have such an impressive power of concentration as the one you displayed today.”

                He had expected the blond to react angrily, but instead of retorting, Enjolras sighed. “I wish it were actually so.”

                Confused by his friend’s words, the medical student was about to request an explanation, but the law student prevented him from doing so by speaking again.

                “Are you going to leave as well?” he asked while glancing at some letters he had been writing earlier in the evening.

                “I am,” Combeferre confirmed and began searching for his coat and top hat. “I have the morning shift at the Necker so I will be unavailable until late in the afternoon. You?”

                “I will probably meet with Arago to discuss further matters regarding the approaching rally at Lamarque’s house. We must be very careful about how we plan this; one mistake and we will all be spending the night in jail, or worse.”

                The Guide nodded. He thought about voicing his disapproval of his friend’s meeting with Étienne Arago, one of the more prominent figures of their movement who, with his exceedingly radical views and rather ruthless personality, was not the best influence on Enjolras. He said nothing however, and finished dressing in silence.

                “Are you not coming?” he asked as he opened the backroom door, ready to depart.

                “In a little while,” Enjolras replied, still not lifting his head to meet his friend’s gaze. “I will just finish things here and then I will go.”

                Combeferre knew that this ‘little while’ probably meant at least another hour, but as fatigue and the dread of this morning’s shift began taking their toll on him, he decided that he was not up for a fight tonight. He had already done all he could by admonishing, sometimes even pleading with Enjolras to take things slower and rest more, but they could argue on the subject only so many times. “Goodnight then, my friend, I will see you tomorrow,” he finally said, and after Enjolras absentmindedly voiced his own farewell, the Guide exited the backroom of the Musain and shut the door closed behind him.

                Just as he turned to descend the stairs, he suddenly collided with a soft form that had appeared out of nowhere, like a shadow at dusk, and almost made him topple over. “I beg your pardon!” he exclaimed, surprised and slightly embarrassed by the accident.

                “Do not concern yourself, Monsieur,” a female voice replied and he was taken aback when he looked down to see who the person that had been in the unfortunate position behind him was.

                It was that girl, Marius’ friend. ‘ _What was her name again?_ ’ he wracked his memory in vain as he surveyed the young, nameless gamine who was gazing back at him, looking a little bit dazed.

                “Did I harm you, Mademoiselle?” the medical student asked worriedly and the doctor within him quickly glanced up and down her small figure, trying to assess if any damage had been made.

                 “I am well, Monsieur,” the girl answered with a nod of the head. “It was my own fault, I should not have stood behind you like that,” she added and then smiled apologetically.

                “No, please, it is quite alright,” Combeferre replied with a polite smile of his own.

                After a few awkward moments of silence passed, the gamine gave a small nod and moved to bypass him, heading towards the door he had just closed behind him less than a minute ago. “Marius is no longer there,” he blurted without really thinking, causing her to turn around and look at him with raised eyebrows.

                “Forgive me, it was not my place to say that,” Combeferre sputtered and felt like he had just said something he shouldn’t have, which he probably did.

                “Has everyone gone home already?” she asked, her face going from surprised to slightly irritated.

                “Only one of us remains,” Combeferre answered and gestured to the closed door behind her. “Enjolras is his name. You might have heard of him from Marius.”

                Curiously, the gamine smirked. “Well then, that is just as well since he was the one I was looking for.”

                Combeferre blinked and tried to process what she had just said. Since when had Enjolras been on speaking terms with this girl? When had he even met her? And since when does Enjolras even interact with women beside Madame Hucheloup and his mother for that matter?

                All of this was very odd and he honestly did not know what to make of it.            

                “Well then,” the gamine said, looking at him expectantly. “Good bye, Monsieur.”

                He blinked again. “I – “ he stuttered before finally shaking himself out of his stupor. “Good night, Mademoiselle,” he replied at last and with a polite bow, turned on his heels and quickly descended the steps that led to the café’s main floor.

                He heard the sound of the backroom door opening and he considered staying to listen to what was happening upstairs, but after thinking it through he realized something like spying was beneath him.

                With one last glance at the stairs that led to the Musain’s top floor, he sighed and walked out of the café and into the night. ”Curious indeed.”

* * *

 

                “Did you forget something?” Enjolras asked when he heard the door open only moments after it had closed, and assumed Combeferre had returned. ‘ _He better not say anything about overworking myself again,_ ’ he thought, not lifting his head from his work as he folded one of his letters and put it aside.  

                “Hey there Monsieur, what’s new with you?” a familiar voice spoke from the direction of the doorway that made the student stop everything he was doing and utter a curse under his breath.

                Slowly, he turned on his seat to find Éponine standing half-hidden behind the doorframe and looking back at him with that coy smile of hers he knew so well.

                Enjolras tried to keep his face as straight as possible, but the emotions and thoughts that were playing inside of him made it nearly impossible to maintain his stony exterior. The second he met the gamine’s eyes, he was instantly bombarded by a mixture of anger, frustration, disbelief and most surprisingly, relief. The fact that she had come calling to him at the Musain certainly did not bode well, but he could not deny that he was somewhat glad to see the girl and thankful that she looked to be in good health. Well, as good as her miserable existence allowed it.

                “Why are you here?” he dared ask, not bothering to hide the displeasure in his voice and fretted what her answer might be.

                She smiled and fully entered the room, shutting the door behind her. “I came to see you, Monsieur.”

                “It is a little late for a girl to walk alone in the streets, Éponine,” he said, ignoring the increase in his body temperature and he turned his gaze back to his papers, needing to look at anything else other than her.

                “You forget who you are speaking with,” the gamine replied and surprisingly did not sound cross. “I am a child of the streets. I spend more time away from home than not.”

                Not surprisingly, her words were anything but reassuring. “That does not mean you should wander on your own so much, you know better than most of the kind of dangers that can be found in the shadows.” Enjolras thought of the many times Éponine had arrived at his doorstep sporting multiple cuts and bruises all over her frail body; he did not want to concern himself with her, nor he did not want to worry, but the girl’s constant recklessness and indolence made it practically impossible to do so.

                “I can take care of myself.”

                The blond scoffed. He was not in the mood to have this conversation or to deal with her stubbornness; all he wanted was to finish his work, go home to his bed, _alone_ , and get himself away from this girl who would surely one day be the death of him.

                “You seem tense, Monsieur,” Éponine said softly and out of nowhere, Enjolras felt soft hands gently grasp at his shoulders.

                He had not even heard her approach, but the moment he felt the contact, Enjolras jumped out of his chair as if burned by her touch and stomped angrily to another table. He kept his back to her as the warm feeling that had surfaced in his cheeks was not something he would have wanted her to notice.

                “Leave at once, Éponine, I have nothing to say to you, and I am sure I do not care for anything you have to say to me.” He forced himself to remember their previous encounter, the venomous words she had spewed, and he let himself be overtaken by the anger he had felt then. He would not be so quick to forgive her. Not this time.

                Again, he did not hear her approach; it was only when he felt her hands on his back did he realize she was directly behind him, cornering him between herself and the table he was leaning on.

                She pressed her body to his tightly and Enjolras inhaled sharply when he felt the swell of her breasts digging into his lower back.

                Before his body could overtake his mind, Enjolras attempted escape by trying to turn around and grab hold of the gamine, but unfortunately for him, she was quicker.

                Sensing his intent, Éponine wrapped her arms around him, trapping him yet again, and slid her hands down until they stopped at his crotch where they easily, as if by instinct, found his already growing erection.

                “Éponine!” the blond let out something that was a combination of a surprised gasp and an annoyed huff. He tried to free himself and remove her hands from his lap, but she was relentless. The woman started stroking and rubbing her palms against his manhood through his trousers, all the while placing small kisses on his spine that Enjolras could feel even through his shirt and waistcoat.

                “’Ponine, stop!” he said through gritted teeth and grabbed her wrists with his hands. He tried to pull them away, but then she squeezed his erection hard and he lost all strength.

                He could feel the tenseness in his body slowly seep away as her hands gently caressed his cock. The stress and pressure were gradually being forgotten and he could barely remember the exhaustion he had felt only moments before.

                How easily she could gain control of him. With only a few touches, she had him throwing his head back and losing all sense; he became a living marionette whose strings were firmly attached to her nimble little fingers. It was unhealthy and demeaning, but he supposed crying over it now, as he grew harder and harder under her hands, would be a bit hypocritical, especially when what she was doing was actually beneficial to his state of body and mind.

                Feeling him relax in her arms, Éponine removed her hands from his lap and slowly turned him around like the puppet he was. Her cheeks were flushed, and the pleased smile she wore as she looked up at his disoriented face would have annoyed him to hell and beyond, but as it were, all he could do was sigh when she lifted herself on her toes and pressed her lips to his jawline.

                There was fire wherever she touched; her saliva was like lava on his neck and her fingers were like hot pokers on his skin. With every kiss and caress he grew hotter and hotter, his desperation reaching its peak when she at last unbuttoned his pants and they fell to the floor in a heap around his ankles, releasing his straining arousal from its restraint in the process.

                After placing a small peck on his lips that he wished would have lasted longer than it did, she lowered herself until she was resting on her knees and her face was at the same level as his hard manhood.

                They caught each other’s gaze and Enjolras shivered with anticipation. He had to lean back on the table for stability as he had a feeling that what she had in store for him would leave him weak in the knees at best.

                Maintaining their eye contact, Éponine brought her hand to her face, and without any shame whatsoever, spat in it three times.

                Normally he would have frowned at such a gross display, but the moment her wet palm grasped his hardening penis, civility and good conduct became the last thing on his mind.

                He groaned loudly as she firmly, but gently clenched her fingers around his arousal and then even louder when she began moving her fist up and down his length at a steady pace.  

                Without taking her eyes off his face, as if she was using his expressions as signs of what to do next, she started increasing the tempo of her strokes and varying the pressure she applied when she squeezed him. God, the effects were maddening.

                Her hand felt nothing like his, Enjolras observed. Where his long callused fingers would rub himself quickly and steadily, seeking quick release rather than pleasure, her small, softer ones played with him, trying to lengthen the experience, not hasten it. Apparently, regarding this matter, Éponine cared more about himself than he did.

                As if her hand was not causing sufficient bliss with its eager strokes, Éponine suddenly brought his cock to her lips and placed a small kiss on its tip that made Enjolras’ whole body clench.

                Noticing his reaction, the gamine grinned and proceeded to place more pecks along the entire surface of his sex. From his head down to the full length of his shaft, she covered his cock in soft, warm kisses and by the time she was done, Enjolras was panting harshly and his shirt was clinging to his skin, stained with his sweat.

                But she did not let him catch his breath. Without warning, Éponine stuck out her tongue and pressed it against the tip of his penis, twirling it around the pink flesh until the glistening of his precum was replaced by that of her saliva.

                “God!” he cried out, feeling himself grow faint for a moment and his hands grasped the edge of the table for support. Her soft tongue and the warmth of her breath on his most sensitive skin felt so incredible Enjolras felt like he would surely die if she ever stopped. “Don’t stop!”

                Her tongue trailed along the entirety of his length, lingering slightly on the ridge that separated his head and shaft, which she lightly circled with the tip of her tongue. The gamine grabbed the base of his erection with one hand to keep it steady and without taking her gaze off his face for even a second, took the tip of his cock into her mouth and sucked.

                “Fuck!” Enjolras cursed and threw his head back when the feeling of her warm mouth envelop his head hit him like a ton of bricks. His hand involuntarily found her mess of brown hair and sank his fingers within it.

                She began slowly moving her head back and forth, taking a little bit more of him inside her mouth every time she came full circle, and sucking hard while her tongue continuously danced around his sensitive tip.

                The pleasure she provoked made Enjolras almost lose contact with the living world, and even though his surroundings became something of a blurry haze of inconsequence, he could still see her clearly. Even though all that should have mattered was her mouth sucking on his manhood, it was her eyes and face that had him completely entranced. The way she unwaveringly gazed up at him and the way her mouth formed into an o-shape around his member was truly a stunning sight to behold.

                Éponine’s brown eyes watered as she swallowed his cock almost all the way to the hilt, and her cheeks were such a deep red that even the dim light of the few remaining candles in the room could not mute their pretty color.

                He removed his hand from her tangled mane and brushed away a few stray hair strands that were sticking to her sweat stained forehead. Her skin was warm and wet, and he could not help but gently run his knuckles over her soft cheeks, her damp brow, or her small ears.

                She hummed contentedly as he softly caressed her face, and her tempo grew slower but steadier as she tried to get as much of him inside her mouth as she could.

                The vibration in her throat made the blond scrunch up his face in blissful agony and with the suction and pressure she was applying on his member, he knew that he would not last much longer.

                “Éponine,” he gasped in warning, notifying her that he was close and ready to let himself be overwhelmed by her, but when she did not pull her head back, he repeated more urgently: “Eponine!”

                Still, she did not stop and continued to bob her head to and fro, licking, sucking and never removing her eyes from his.        

                As he felt the surge of his orgasm approaching fast, he yanked her by the hair and desperately tried to push her head back. “’Ponine, now!”

                But the gamine would not comply. She wrapped her arms around his behind and pulled him further into her mouth, groaning as she took the full length of him inside her throat.

                “GOD!” Enjolras yelled, unable to hold back any longer as his hips bucked and his back arched in a powerful moment of release. He cursed when he felt his ejaculate splash against the inside of her mouth and Éponine suck hard, squeezing out every last drop of him.

                “Fuck!” he groaned as his body relaxed and his breathing began returning back to normal. Gingerly, he pulled his spent sex out of her mouth and looked down at the gamine, ready to ask why in God’s name she did something like that.

                Her gaze was still locked on the revolutionary, and when their eyes met she swallowed the entire contents of his orgasm in one large, loud gulp. After licking the last few drops of him that had escaped her mouth and were staining her lips white, she smiled. “Feeling better now, Monsieur?”

                Enjolras did not fully understand what she meant. His mind was too wearied and clouded after the strain of his release and the awe inspiring display she had just performed in front of him. Were he not so worn out he would have gathered the gamine in his arms and slammed her on the table behind him to ravish her until there was nothing left. As it were, he needed to take a moment.

                With some difficulty, he bent down and picked his trousers off the floor, pulled them up and clumsily fastened them. “Yes,” he grunted in response to her question as he gingerly walked past her and with an exhausted groan, sank in the nearest chair he could find.

                The girl watched him with an amused grin and, as expected, looked like she was taking great pride in once again being the only one who could reduce the revolutionary leader to nothing byt an unsteady mess of a man.

                Enjolras was however not expecting her to rise to her feet, pat the dust off her skirt and begin trotting in the direction of the backroom’s exit. “Where are you going?” he asked, confused and surprised that she had not yet tried to take advantage of his weakened state to jump him and demand he immediately return the favor.

                “Home,” she answered and turned her head do look back at him over her shoulder, “a girl like me should not stay up too late after all.” She smirked and there was an obvious note of sarcasm in her voice that made him wince.

                ‘ _Is she upset? Why is she upset?_ ’

                “What about - ” he said and awkwardly gestured towards her body, “you?”

                With a giggle, Éponine turned on her heel to fully face the law student. She smiled a sweet smile at him and clasped her hands behind her back. Had she not had his penis in her mouth only moments ago, Enjolras would have thought she looked like just another innocent young girl.      

                “Today is not about me, Monsieur. It is about you,” she replied and he was surprised that she seemed earnest about it.

                Enjolras blinked and stared at her, completely bewildered by her words. “I beg your pardon?”

                Her smile faltered and she let out a frustrated huff. She actually looked embarrassed, he observed.

                “Look,” she said, lowering her eyes to stare at her feet and scratched the side of her head. It made her look like an awkward child. “I know I’ve said and done some things I shouldn’t have, and I know I made you really angry last time we – well, you know – so this was just my way of saying – “ she paused and raised her head too look him in the face, “ – I made a mistake.”

                Enjolras was not one to be easily left speechless, yet here he was, staring dumbly at this young woman before him and unable to think up a single word of response.

                “And besides,” Éponine suddenly continued and the smile returned to her face, “I saw you in Place St. Michel earlier today and I couldn’t help but think you looked a bit like shit – no offense!” she quickly interjected when she saw the twitch in his eyebrow. “You just looked stressed and tired, and I thought this,” she smirked and touched her mouth with her index finger, “could help make you feel better.”

                He said nothing. All he did was stare at her, his exterior stone, but his insides fire.

                “Well, I am going,” she quipped and once again turned on her heel to leave. “Good night, Monsieur Enjolras.”

                “Come here.”

                The gamine stopped mid-motion just as her hand was reaching out to grasp the door handle. After a second or two in which she looked like she had frozen in space, she slowly turned to face the young man and raised her eyebrow in confusion. “What?”

                “I said come here,” he repeated himself, and there was an impatient tone in his voice that left no room for backtalk.             

                Wordlessly and with small steps, Éponine walked up to where he sat and stopped just at the edge of his feet. There was no expression on her face, but Enjolras easily caught the befuddlement and slight worry in her eyes.

                “I am not the kind of man who easily accepts favors, Éponine,” he said tersely.

                “It was an apology,” she quickly retorted.

                “A simple ‘I’m sorry’ would have sufficed.”

                “It was _my_ way of apologizing.”

                “You have a very distorted way of expressing things.”

                “You enjoyed it, did you not?”

                Enjolras smirked. “I did. Nevertheless,” and as he spoke, he leaned forward slightly and raised a hand to grab hold of her belt, “while I do accept and appreciate your apology,” he began slowly unfastening the belt buckle, “I do not need you to concern yourself with my health, or my personal business.”

                Her eyes widened as her belt fell to the floor with a loud clunk, and she stared at Enjolras in mild shock when his hand began carefully working on her skirt next. “As such,” he continued while his hand reached up to her chemise, “I am indebted to return the favor you have so _graciously_ done for me.”

                Her clothes fell piece by piece until nothing remained and she finally stood completely bare before him. 

                He could not help but smirk at noticing the goose bumps that had formed on her skin and the slight shivering of her body. He raised his hand and with a gesture of the head, beckoned her to take it.

                Éponine hesitated for a second, but in the end she acceded and slowly, cautiously, placed her small hand in his.

                They gazed into each other’s eyes and Enjolras wondered why he was doing this or why his heart was drumming rapidly inside his chest. But as he glanced up and down her naked body, he realized that these were not questions he cared to meditate on right now.

                His free hand found her waist and he drew her closer, directing her movements just like she had become the marionette this time. He turned her sideways and gently pulled her down to him so that she was now sitting on his lap with her legs hanging down his right side and her behind resting on his thighs.

                They sat like this for a little while, and Enjolras noted how small she felt in his embrace; he wondered if she had always been like this, or was it just the first time he had noticed it. Either way, he could not deny how well she fit in his arms.

                Perhaps it was because she was naked and he fully clothed, but there was an air of discomfort in her body language that Enjolras could go as far as calling it shyness. ‘ _Éponine being shy – what an idea_ ,’ he thought and could not contain the chuckle that escaped his throat.

                “What?” the gamine snapped and he could feel her body tense up as she threw him a dirty look.

                “Nothing,” he shook his head, looking at her with a mirthful expression. While she continued glaring at him, his hand began mindlessly running up and down the length of her thigh. He touched her softly, barely grazing her soft skin with the callused tips of his fingers, and even though his touch was light as a feather, he could clearly see a trail of more goose bumps sprouting in the wake of his hand.

                Biting her lip, the gamine’s own hand moved underneath her bottom and aimed for his manhood, but Enjolras quickly intercepted her by grabbing her wrist.

                He tisked and shook his head. “No, no, ‘Ponine. This is about you, not me,” he repeated her words from before and gazed at her darkly. “Now be good and stay still,” he ordered and it took all he had not to laugh at her shocked expression.

                The girl’s skin had taken on the loveliest shade of red and Enjolras was curious if it was from the heat of her arousal or embarrassment. He hoped it was both.

                Letting his right hand continue its delicate path along her thighs, his left arm slithered from behind and clutched her by the waist. It was mainly a means of assuring her stability, but because she was so thin, his hand easily managed to fully encircle her back and reach the silken mound of her left breast. He cupped the soft flesh in his palm and smiled at the whimper that came out of Éponine’s lips.

                As one hand kneaded her breast and the other went up from her thighs to her flat stomach, her body began writhing in his arms and he could feel his trousers become damp in the spot that was below the juncture of her legs. Driven by the ache in her sex, the gamine pressed her thighs together and lifted her hand, the one that was not trapped between them, and clutched a fistful of his shirt in what looked like sheer agony.

                He smirked. How he loved seeing her distressed like this and how he loved the matching expression she wore.

                Driven by his erratic emotions, he slid his hands upwards from her stomach, passed her chest and reached her face, cupping her chin in his fingers. They only stared at each other for a second before he bent forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.

                At first he was gentle and tender, but as the intensity of the situation grew, his kisses went from delicate dewdrops to full on thunderstorm. She moaned against his mouth as their tongues met and her arms clasped his shoulders and desperately attempted to pull him closer.

                His left hand was still massaging her breast, but rougher than before, and his right once again returned to caress the soft skin of her belly. He lightly stroked her abdomen with his fingertips, and when he felt her shiver, he began the descent down the path that led to the most sensitive part of her.

                With some reluctance, he pulled his lips away from hers and after taking a few deep breaths, he pushed her backwards until she was slightly leaning back, cradled by the arm he had around her. It was easier for Enjolras to gain access to the rest of her body this way, and the full view he had of her in this position was nothing short of splendid.  

                His hand glided down her stomach, and after guiding her to part her legs, he finally reached the wet heat of her core. He touched her lightly, brushing his fingers over her softness just enough so that she could feel it and get an idea of what was about to come.

                She purred like a kitten when his middle finger slid between her folds and delicately traced the entire length of her slit. And she mewled so sweetly when his finger gently pressed down on that tiny bundle of nerves that was her clitoris.

                She gasped and moaned with every circle his finger traced around her sensitive nub and Enjolras could not bear to take his eyes off her. He gazed at Éponine in awe of her bodily reactions to his touches, and after a while, he even learned which actions triggered which response. If he circled her clit, her lips would form into a small o shape and she would let out a soft appreciative hum; if he pressed it, she would hiss and tense for a fraction of a second; and if he squeezed it, she would cry out loudly and her body would jerk violently until he released his hold on the little nub. Needless to say, the last one was his favorite.

                Wanting to try out something different, he removed his finger from her clitoris and returned it to her folds. He rubbed the soft flesh with his palm, covering her sex completely with his large hand and his fingertips added just the smallest bit of extra pressure on her opening.

                Her whimpers quickly turned to moans and nonsensical babbling when Enjolras pressed her folds together and began rubbing them against each other in a steady rhythm. “God… more… you… oh… shit… don’t… stop!” she cried and he had to bite his lips to stop himself from laughing at her ramblings.

                But he understood what she wanted – he would have been a moron if he didn’t – so he once again spread her open and let his fingers attack her clit in the way he knew she liked. He flicked and stroked the little nub rapidly, all the while his other hand continued to firmly knead her breast.         

                When it looked like she was on the verge of breaking, he moved his hand slightly and pressed the tip of his middle finger against her opening. She screamed when he slowly entered her and her left hand shot up to bury itself in his damp curls in a desperate attempt to ground herself to the land of the living.

                It was unfortunate, but their positions did not permit full penetration, as he duly noted when he discovered that three quarters of a finger was his limit, lest the strain on his hand became too great. It _was_ fortunate however that three quarters seemed to be enough for Éponine, who immediately voiced her approval when he started thrusting inside her sex, and very loudly at that.

                She cried out in bliss and turned sideways in his arms so that she could bury her head in his chest. He pumped his fingers fervently inside her, and in a matter of seconds, he felt her whole body jerk violently against his as climaxed wildly against him.

                Enjolras could never quite get used to seeing Éponine orgasm; there was always a hint of novelty whenever she reached her peak that amazed him every time. But as her body relaxed and her groans became silent pants, he had to confess he quite hoped to never become accustomed to it.

                After giving her some time to collect herself, the blond removed his hand from between her legs and carefully turned the gamine around so that he could better see her face. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking down at the disoriented girl in his arms and feeling amazed that he was the cause for the state she was in.

                Éponine nodded her head slowly and after taking a deep breath of air, she raised her head to look at him with a dreamy smile. “More than well,” she giggled, biting her lip as the fingers she had in his hair began delicately twisting and twirling his blond curls.

                Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this out of ordinary display of affection. Normally, she would already be dressed and out the door by now, yet she still had not moved an inch from his embrace. He must have done his job well.

                “It is getting late,” he said, trying to ignore the agreeable feeling of her fingers running through his hair. “I should like to perhaps get some sleep tonight. I have work to do, you know?” Fatigue was starting to catch up to him and it was time he loosed the gamine from his lap before he became too used to holding her like this.

                Shaking her head and grinning dangerously, Éponine raised herself up and captured his lips with hers.

                She kissed him fervently, and although he was unwilling to respond at first, he soon found himself thrusting his tongue inside her mouth and groaning against her lips.

                Suddenly, he felt her shift in his lap and before he knew it, she was straddling him with her legs on either side of his body and rubbing herself against him.

                The gamine stared at him directly and she was so close they were practically hugging each other, which was something they never did.

                “Éponine what are you doing?” he asked, bewildered and a little bit uncomfortable with their new position.

                She smirked. “It is a shame, Monsieur – “ she said in a seductive tone and Enjolras felt her hands once again on the buttons of his trousers, which he swiftly made quick work of, “ – to let it go to waste,” and her hand firmly grasped his erect manhood as she spoke.

                “Shit!” he hissed; he had been hoping she would not notice. Trying to keep his head clear, he glared at the gamine and once again attempted to make her stop her teasing. “No more, ‘Ponine, I am tired.”

                “I’m not,” she replied and lifted herself to position her sex directly above his.

                “Éponine, I said – “ he tried warning her, but the sentence was never finished as the girl slowly lowered herself on his straining arousal and all air was forced out of his lungs. They both moaned as the tip of his penis entered her and Enjolras gave up all hope in stopping now.

                She lowered herself on him, inch by incredible inch until she allowed him full entry by bearing all the way down to his thighs. Slowly, she began rocking her hips against his and they both growled a slew of curse words as his cock rubbed against the tight walls of her vagina.

                Because her legs were slightly short, Éponine was unable to use them to move up and down his shaft, but as the intelligent girl she was, she quickly found a solution to this problem by leaning ever so slightly and placing her hands on his knees to use them as leverage.

                Placing her weight on her arms and his legs, she slowly lifted her hips until his manhood was almost out her slit, then slammed back down, screaming as his length filled her to the brim once again.

                She continued thrusting against his shaft this way and even though it put a bit of strain on his legs, Enjolras was grateful for this position. Besides the incredible feelings he experienced, it allowed him a splendid view of Éponine’s front, specifically her breasts, and the awe-inspiring sight of their joining. Without even thinking, he brought his hand to her center and used his thumb to draw lazy circles around her swollen clit.

                “Oh God, Enjolras!” she cried out and increased the speed of her thrusts.

                He groaned loudly and had to clench his jaw to hold himself back from losing control. The way her wet walls enveloped his hardness and the way she moved on top of him was enough to drive him mad; she looked so dazzling right now that he could not bear to take his eyes off her even for a second.

                “Enjolras! Enjolras!” she repeated his name in time with her motions, and this was usually enough to send him over the edge, but he held on as he felt the signs of Éponine’s own orgasm approaching fast.

                Leaning forward, he used his free hand to cup one of her breasts and held it up to capture her nipple with his mouth. His tongue lapped at her erect peak and he gently pinched her swollen clit with the fingers of his other hand.

                “AH!” Éponine screamed and her body shook wildly as she climaxed for the second time that night.

                “Don’t stop!” Enjolras groaned when her movements slowed down, on the brink of his own release as well. It only took three more thrusts until he cried out in ecstasy and flooded himself inside of her.

                As the moment passed and the rapture died down, Enjolras suddenly began feeling faint. He was so exhausted.  Not having a good night’s sleep in days and being worn out by Éponine were finally taking their toll on his body.  It took everything he had not to collapse and fall into a deep slumber right there on the café’s floor.

                What happened next was a complete haze. He felt the weight on his lap disappear and he could just make out Éponine’s form shuffling about the room, possibly dressing herself, but he could not be sure. It was only when he felt her shake him that he came to enough to get his vision into focus.

                “Monsieur, I am leaving. Will you be alright?” the gamine said slowly and looked at him with what could have been worry. Could have been, but Enjolras doubted that it was.

                 “I’ll be fine,” he answered, and it was probably a lie, but his weariness was not any of her concern to be quite frank. 

                She shrugged, and to his relief, did not comment on the matter any further. Without so much as a goodbye, as was her custom, she took her leave from the café’s backroom and left the revolutionary alone with his exhaustion.

                With some amount of difficulty, the blond rose to his feet, stumbling a bit at first, but after managing to fasten his pants back up, he stalked over to his table and stared at the pile of papers he had yet to finish stacking. He sighed. Once again he sank in his chair, feeling himself unable to stand at the moment, and got ready for another attempt at finishing his work for the night.

                Only five minutes passed before Enjolras’ head dropped on his arms and the only sound that could be heard in the deserted room was that of his light snoring.

* * *

 

                It was a lovely night.

                Lovelier than usual. The air had become warmer, the sky was clear and the stars shone brighter than they had in months. Nights like these always improved Éponine’s mood, and even more so if her spirits were already high to begin with.

                The gamine happily skipped down the deserted Rue St. Michel on her way home and was even humming some old tune from her childhood that she only vaguely remembered the chorus of. Her body felt light as air and she knew she would sleep well tonight.

                Yes, it was an excellent night.

                She still could not stop thinking of what had just taken place at the Musain, and she could still not find it in herself to believe that it had actually happened.

                Enjolras – revolutionary leader who only knew of Patria and how to push her away Enjolras – had not only fallen prey to her seductions much easier than usual, but he had actually taken the initiative and ‘returned the favor’, as he had put it. ‘ _And how he returned it,_ ’ she thought and could not help but giggle at the memory.

                It had been truly unexpected. When she had first come to him tonight, she had had no expectation, nor desire for her own gratification; all she had wanted was to apologize for a mistake she acknowledged making and honestly regretted.

                It took humility to apologize, but it took maturity to recognize when the fault was yours, and Éponine had always taken pride in being older than her years, but docile she was not. As such, she much preferred getting on her knees and using her mouth for other things than uttering the words ‘I’m sorry.’

                Granted, she would not have done this for just anybody, but had felt the need to do it for him when she had caught sight of Enjolras earlier today, and the shadows cast by fatigue under his eyes or his slightly sagged shoulders, changes that were barely noticeable by most, but ones that she caught with just one quick glance. He was stressed and burdened by things Éponine did not know nor understand, but she was nevertheless struck by a strong urge to remove some of that pressure from his shoulders.

                And who knew the one selfless deed she did for the revolutionary would prove to be beneficial for both parties; perhaps the saying ‘give and ye shall receive’ was true after all.

                As she mused, she could not stop the wide smile that spread on her lips as the memory of sitting in Enjolras’ lap and being held tightly by his strong arms returned to her. How odd yet wonderful it had felt. Even though the things he had done to her body had been mind-shattering to say the least, there was a much deeper part of her that had been touched by his unexpected gentleness.

                Enjolras had never been the wildest of beasts in bed, but he had never touched her so softly and tenderly as he did tonight. ‘ _Perhaps he was just tired,_ ’ she thought and tried to convince herself that this was the most probable answer.

                She would have continued pondering this problem further had her thoughts not been suddenly interrupted by the sound of a small voice coming from the direction of one of the adjacent alleys that connected to the main street.

                The gamine could not help but stop in her tracks and try to listen more attentively. There was a hint of fear and desperation in the tone of the voice that deeply unsettled her.

                Without giving it much thought, and being fully aware that she could easily come to regret this decision, she carefully followed the sound until it led her to the right alleyway.

                “Hang in there, everything is gonna be alright, I promise!” she heard someone speak, followed closely by an agonized cry that seemed to belong to a second person. Surged by a worry she had no idea where it was from and why she felt it, the gamine slowly entered the mouth of the alley to take a better look.

                In the darkness, she could make out two figures. One was kneeling, holding onto another smaller one who was lying on the ground in a fetal position, clutching at their stomach and whimpering in what seemed like horrible pain.

                Eponine’s heart stopped for a moment and she found herself approaching the 2 figures, unable to take her eyes off of one of them.

                “Gavroche?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* What's this? A cliffhanger? Oops! Hopefully you won't have to wait too long to find out what happens next.
> 
> I'd like to mention that Étienne Arago, Evariste Galois, Godefroy Cavaignac and Louis-Auguste Blanqui are actual historical figures and members of the Society for the Rights of Man and actually fought during the June Rebellion. Unfortunately, I haven't found much else on these four except for their names, so I'm going to take a lot of liberties with their characters, especially Arago, who will appear in the next chapter.
> 
> And yes, I know there is a TON of sex in this fic... and there will be more... and then some. (Is that enough incentive for you?)
> 
> Hope you liked it, and thanks a lot for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Back with another chapter, at last. So sorry it took so long, but as you can see, this chapter is even longer than the others. I'm sorry but with the length of these things, it's impossible to get them written any faster.
> 
> I took some liberties within this chapter with Arago and Galois' characters, who were real-life historical figures and who were part of the republican movement during the time of the rebellion, and while their stories are actual facts, their personalities are completely a product of my own imagination. So... sorry to them.
> 
> Massive thanks to ThinksInWords again for being an awesome beta, and to all my friends for being so patient with me and my slowness.
> 
> Warning for illness and minor character death.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter.

_May 11th 1832_

                Étienne Arago was an impressive man.

                In his short 30 years of age, he had experienced more than some men had in 60.

                Born in Perpignan as the youngest of four brothers, Arago left for Paris to join l’École Polytechnique, where he studied chemistry for three years. It was there that his passion for republican politics was ignited and he became infamous as a militant political activist.

                It was rumored that, during his university years, Arago had taken the Carbonari’s example of freemasonry organization when he first created La Societé des Amis du Peuple, a society of student activists that became the first of the many student-led republican groups that sprouted in its wake.

                As the central power of the French republican movement, all the smaller organizations answered back to Arago and his fellow leaders, and no important decisions were to be made without first consulting him, Evariste Galois, Eugène Cavaignac or Louis-Auguste Blanqui.

                Perhaps it was because he had led such an eventful life that made Arago, with his tall lanky frame, aesthetically pleasing face, slightly receding hairline and calm, yet alert eyes, a man that was agreeable to behold in tranquility, but imposing, and one could even say frightening in passion.

                Yes, he could be terrifying when he wished to be. He commanded respect wherever he walked, and with his quick wit and sharp tongue, he would silence anyone who made the terrible mistake of speaking against him.

                Yes, his life had been remarkable, and there was no doubt it would continue to be so. He was a man to be admired, and Enjolras truly appreciated every moment he spent in Étienne Arago’s presence.

                The leader of Les Amis de l’ABC was listening with sharp ears as the older man spoke of days to come, of dreams of a free republic and a prosperous France. It filled Enjolras’ heart with hope and courage hearing this man speak with such conviction and passion; he fed on his enthusiasm and clung to his every word, burning them in his memory, in the hopes of one day becoming an adept leader such as he.    

                There was only he, Arago and Galois that had gathered in their usual location, a café in the deeper reaches of the Parisian slums, where only one who knew their way around could escape the area unharmed and with their pouches intact. It was dirty and decrepit, but it was safe, and they had no worries of being overheard by prying ears as they plotted their next move in their quest to overthrow Louis-Philippe and his so-called ‘liberal constitutional monarchy.’

                As all heads of the smaller groups, it was Enjolras’ turn to present a report on his own society’s work and progress in rallying the people to their side. The discussion had gone well, despite his less than proper appearance and even worse mood, but Arago and Galois had been pleased, which was all that mattered.

                They debated over a variety of future plans and strategies; specifically those for after General Lamarque would fall under the blade of his disease. They planned assemblies, speeches, uniting the people to fight for what was right, and the final spark that would prove to be the end or the beginning of their crusade. They spoke for the better part of two hours, and after all matters were settled, the three men took to sit back with a glass of wine and converse in a more relaxed manner.

                “I must say, you certainly look a bit worse for wear today, Enjolras,” Galois observed when Enjolras took a moment to crack his neck and straighten his shoulders.

                Even though he was only a boy of 20, Evariste Galois had rightfully earned his spot as one of Arago’s seconds in command. A gifted mathematician, Galois was one of the more radical members of la Societé. A former student of l'École préparatoire, he was expelled for publishing a heated article criticizing the school’s director for not allowing its students to participate in the July Revolution of 1830, and a few years later, he was even arrested, as he was thought to be a threat to Louis-Philippe when the young man, during a banquet that had turned riotous, toasted to the king with a dagger above his cup.

                Released from prison barely two weeks ago, he had already resumed his place at Arago’s side to continue the battle against the monarchy. He was a man who was not to be underestimated, nor deemed a child, despite his juvenile features and feminine face; Galois was a man of action, he was untamed, fiery and certainly someone not to be easily crossed.

                All things considered, Enjolras, in turn, was not a man easily intimidated. Therefore he saw Galois as just another man who shared his ideals, and another ally he could trust.

                “A bit of a rough night’s sleep,” he replied, throwing a small smile in the younger man’s direction, “I did not choose the best location to spend the night, I am afraid.”

                “Was this location perhaps the bosom of some delicate grisette?” Arago asked jokingly and eyed the blond with a smirk. “I do hope you’ve found yourself a mistress already, Enjolras. It is such a pity that a man like you should spend his nights alone, without the comfort of a woman’s breast as company.”

                Enjolras looked down and forced himself to keep his face impassive, “I have not, unfortunately.” This was not a discussion he was eager to partake in; he had enough of it from his own friends. And it was true; he did not have a mistress. He had Éponine. And while he acknowledged that Éponine was indeed something other than nothing to him, his mistress or lover she was certainly not.

                “Pity,” Arago sighed and took a sip of wine, appearing to have become bored of the conversation. “What is the word on Lamarque’s health?” He detachedly swirled the alcohol in his glass and seemed oddly fascinated by its motion.

                “He is fighting the disease bravely,” Enjolras replied grimly. Even though the general was in a delicate condition, it was admirable how he had not yet surrendered to death and continued the battle for his life.

                "Stubborn old man," Galois grumbled and drank the remnants of his glass in one gulp. "He should just die already so we can finally make our move."

                Enjolras' jaw clenched and he shot the younger man a reproachful glare. "I hardly think that is appropriate, Galois. The General is a good man and we should regret his plight, not cheer it on."

                To his surprise, both men looked back at him mirthfully.

                "My good man," Arago chuckled, "you really must stop being so naive."

                When Enjolras returned his amused gaze with confusion, he continued, matter-of-factly: "Of course we must cheer his death on. His living is only a burden upon himself and everyone that surrounds him, whereas his passing will prove to be of the greatest benefit to the country and the people he has sworn to serve."

                "You cannot wish for a man's death, even if it does better suit your needs," Enjolras retorted, slightly outraged by his superiors' nonchalance and indifference. "If we are going to follow that mindset, then we are no better than the monarchs we say we despise."

                "As I said, you are naive," Arago shook his head, and stared back at the blond with a patient calmness that made Enjolras feel like a child who was still trying to understand the world he was living in. "It is clear to me that you do not know death."

                "I have seen men die before me, I am not unfamiliar with death" he countered, feeling himself grow angry as flashes of memories from those Three Glorious Days flooded his mind.

                Only two years had passed since the July Revolution, yet the smell of gunpowder and burnt flesh was as vivid as though it had been yesterday. He had seen death, and though he did not doubt the strength of his heart, he was not quite keen, or ready, to encounter it again.

                Once again, Arago shook his head and Galois smirked as he filled his glass with more wine, which he drained in one long sip. 

                "Tell me this, Enjolras," the younger man asked, "have you ever witnessed the passing of any of your close relatives or friends?"

                "No," the blond replied, not quite certain where the conversation was heading, "fortunately I have not."

                "Well then there is your problem," Arago said triumphantly and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table to stare directly at Enjolras, who was sitting at the other end.  "You have never experienced loss, which is the true curse of death. You may have seen men fall two years ago, but you did not mourn them, you do not miss them. Their deaths were just a fleeting pain that disappeared along with the memory of their faces, or their names, _if_ you actually knew their names to begin with." He paused to take another drink of wine, slowly swirling the liquid in his mouth and savoring its sour taste. "You see, my friend, it is when you lose someone you care for that you begin to understand what death truly is. And it is when you understand, that you begin to fear it."

                He rose to his feet and began pacing around the room in a style similar to the way Enjolras did whenever he was in deep thought. But opposite from his short strides, Arago's were long and slow, and the blond couldn't help but be reminded of a snake, slithering among tall grass, silent, but deadly at the same time.  "People die every single day, my friend. No one is safe. Not anymore." There was darkness in his eyes that sent a chill down Enjolras' spine, but he could not take his eyes off his majestic figure, and he could not help but be captivated by his severe words. "Famine and disease plague our land, and if you do not suffer from those, then you die by the dagger of those who do. I know death, Enjolras, and I know what an evil bitch she is," Arago added, and his voiced became somber for a moment, before quickly regaining its usual resonance. “I pray for the General's quick death. I pray for it because I would rather mourn one meaningless life than an entire country." He stopped his pacing and stared down at Enjolras and Galois with black fire in his eyes. "We need Lamarque to die, so that we can save Patria and those who are dear to her."

                The blond swallowed a lump in his throat and his hand shook around his untouched glass of wine. He replayed Arago's words in his mind, and while he knew they were true, he still could not quite understand them. They did not feel right.

                "It is time for us to go, Evariste," Arago said, the icy drawl returning to his voice, and patted his subordinate on the shoulder. 

                Galois quickly emptied out another glass of wine and rose to his feet. He donned his jacket and hat, and after nodding goodbye to Enjolras, he left the cafe first, no doubt to ensure the safety of their surroundings before going on their way.

                "I hope you will continue your excellent progress," Arago said after shaking Enjolras' hand and made his way towards the exit. "La Societé is very proud of the work Les Amis de l'ABC have done, and of your leadership. I look forward to meeting you again."

                Before the older man could go out the door, Enjolras rose to his feet and, without really thinking, blurted, "I still believe it is a terrible thing to build barricades on top of a good man's grave."

                The two revolutionaries stared at each other for a moment, before a low chuckle came out of Arago's lips. "There are times, my friend, when we all must be terrible."

                And with that, he departed, leaving Enjolras alone with his full glass of wine and the cold shiver in his spine.

\---------------------------------

                Étienne Arago may have been an impressive man, but Combeferre could not help the dominant feeling of distaste he felt for the revolutionary leader right now.

                He gazed at Enjolras with worry as they both busied themselves with putting things in order, after their last meeting had once again lasted into the late hours of the evening, and had ended with an unfortunate incident involving Grantaire and a table filled with a considerable amount of glassware.

                The blond was in quite the sorry state, which was natural, considering the way he had spent the previous night, huddled over his desk, with his head buried in his arms. This was how Madame Houcheloup had found Enjolras this morning.

                The medical student was extremely grateful that the kind owner of the Musain had notified him of his friend once again disregarding his medical and friendly advice. And Combeferre would have berated him severely for this, had Enjolras not started recounting the events of his meeting from several hours ago with Arago and Evariste Galois.

                Needless to say, Combeferre was not pleased with what he had heard. In fact, he was outraged and disgusted. He had always been a firm advocate of the belief that all life was sacred and should be respected as such. To think that Arago would so easily wish and hope for a man's death, a man as respected and kind as General Lamarque, who had spent his life serving his country courageously and honorably, who was one of the most important supporters of human rights and political liberty, a man whom every one of them had the greatest admiration and respect for, was infuriating. 

                Enjolras sighed, and after he finished setting all of the tables in order, he slumped into his usual chair, looking completely exhausted. Combeferre didn't know if this was from lack of sleep or the evident inner turmoil he was going through. "They're probably right, 'Ferre," the blond said in an uncharacteristically subdued tone, "perhaps the time of doing and believing in what's morally correct is done. Principles should no longer be top priority, not when the people are suffering as they are."

                There was validity in what Enjolras spoke. Combeferre knew this. Yet how many principles could be abandoned before one began losing their humanity?

Even though they had been fighting this passive battle for years, they had still managed to keep their integrity intact. None of Les Amis de l'ABC had claimed a life, not even during the Three Glorious Days. Instead they had mourned the dead of 1830, enemy or friend alike.

                They had still been young during those days, they had not known what truly lay behind a revolution: the conspiracies, the lies, the schemes, the backhanded tricks, and, most frighteningly, the undiluted hate for their oppressors had been unexpected and, at first, frowned upon by the group of students. But time passed, and most of them had come to accept that if it were for the greater good, then dishonesty and deceit would have to be accepted as their allies.

                Yet now, they were supposed to begin disregarding human life. Just like that. Willingly sacrifice themselves - no, they were already prepared to do this - sacrifice the lives of their friends for the betterment of their country. He glanced at Enjolras and the troubled expression his exhaustion prevented him from hiding, and Combeferre wondered what he felt about this. Was he ready to lead their friends to the boundary between Earth and the Underworld? Could he? And most importantly, would he?

                "The question you need to ask yourself, my friend," Combeferre began, pausing for a moment to remove his spectacles and clean them with a handkerchief, "is what is it that matters to you more."

                He put his glasses back on his nose and looked at his friend. He was startled to find a trace of vulnerability in Enjolras' crystal blue eyes, and for a moment, he wished he had not said a word.

                The blond did not answer his question, so they continued cleaning the backroom of the Musain in silence. Time seemed to pass slowly, and after they finished, Combeferre took out his pocket watch to check the time. One in the morning… Splendid.

                "I see you still carry your grandfather's watch," Enjolras observed with a small smile, probably forced, but appreciated nonetheless.

                Combeferre twirled the trinket in his fingers and smiled. "It is a treasure I hold very dear. It may be outdated and old, but it does its job well."

                "I remember your grandfather. He used carry us on his back when we were children," Enjolras leaned back on his chair and eyed the watch with a wry smile. "He never could remember my name, though."

                The memory made Combeferre laugh out loud. His grandfather had already been well past his prime when they were young, and it was always an amusing thing when he would mangle his best friend's name or call him something else entirely different. There were even times when he believed the old man would do it on purpose, just to spite the young Enjolras.

                "He was always very fond of you," Combeferre told his best friend and pocketed the watch safely back into his waistcoat pocket.

He was about to speak again, when they suddenly heard the sound of rushed footsteps going up the stairs from the first floor. There was no one who could possibly have any business with either of them at this late hour, which made the two men exchange wary glances as they waited for whoever it was to enter.

                The door burst open, and they were both surprised to find a disheveled and exhausted-looking Gavroche, staring up at them with a desperate look in his eyes that had them approaching the boy with worried glances the second he entered the room.

                "Gavroche, what's wr-?"

                "I need help!" the gamin blurted. "I need yer help." He did not even wait for a response; he grabbed both men by the cuffs of their jackets and began dragging them towards the exit.

                "Gavroche, calm down," Enjolras tried to shake the boy off and make some sense of the situation. "Tell us what the matter is, we will help, but you need to tell us - "

                "No time! I'll show ya!"

                Combeferre and Enjolras glanced at each other worriedly, and after a silent agreement, they decided to follow the gamin, and offer any assistance they could.

                "Lead the way, Gavroche."

                A trace of a smile appeared on the child's lips, and after nodding appreciatively, he rushed out the door, with the two students running closely behind.

He led them down Rue St. Michel until they reached the intersection with Rue Saint-Germaine. There, he turned a corner and continued moving until he reached the mouth of a small alleyway, where he came to a halt.

                It was late in the night, so Combeferre could not properly see what was beyond the darkness. He noticed Enjolras tense beside him, on guard for anything suspicious or threatening that could loom in the shadows. His eyes analyzed their surroundings carefully; his breathing was coming in harshly and his blond locks clung to his forehead as sweat dripped down his face and to his chin. Combeferre was in the same situation, though his attention was more focused on Gavroche, who slowly entered the alley and confidently walked towards a certain area, like he had been there a thousand times.

                The gamin motioned for them to follow.

                The moment his eyes became accustomed to the dark and he managed to see what the boy was walking towards, Combeferre couldn't help the small gasp that escaped his lips at the sight that welcomed them.

                On a pile of rags and dirty blankets lay a young boy, younger than Gavroche, Combeferre noticed, no older than 6, but no younger than 5, and what was almost just as surprising, was the person sitting beside him, holding a hand onto the child's forehead and stroking his curly dark hair gently.

                It was she again. That girl. If only he could remember what her name -

                "Éponine?"

                Combeferre turned to look at Enjolras, who was staring down at the gamine, Éponine apparently, with eyes as wide as saucers and his skin a few shades paler than it had been before.

                The gamine looked up at the both of them, nodding blankly in greeting, and her eyes lingered on Enjolras just a bit more than it did on him. There were deep dark circles under her eyes, and she looked like she been awake longer than her body appreciated.

                "Why are you here?" Enjolras asked tersely, and Combeferre was surprised to hear the sharp edge of his voice.

                Pursing her lips, Éponine's gaze lowered from theirs and onto the small boy she was caring for. It only now dawned on Combeferre that the reason they had probably been called for was the child, as he realized that something was indeed wrong, and he cursed himself for not noticing sooner.

                "That's my friend, Théodore, Théo we call him," Gavroche spoke up, gesturing to the other boy. "Me and the others got worried after we stopped seeing 'im around the Elephant, so we went to look for 'im and this is how I found 'im last night. He's sick."

                That, Combeferre could tell. It was clear the boy was not well.

                He kneeled beside him to get a better look, as the darkness made it impossible to analyze his condition from where he was standing.

                The moment he got a clear view of the child, his heart sank. Besides his frighteningly thin body, which was not exactly uncommon among the children of the streets nowadays, Combeferre also noticed the sunken eyes, wrinkled hands, the bluish-gray hue of his skin - he grabbed the boy's wrist - and rapid pulse, which provided the gruesome diagnostic he wished he didn't have to give.

                He looked up to look at the gamine, who was still absent-mindedly stroking the child's hair. Their gazes met, and he could immediately see the resigned look in her eyes. She knew.

                Rising back to his feet, he turned to Enjolras, who was observing the scene with a deep frown, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear: "Cholera."

                The blond's back straightened and his gaze went from him, to the ill boy, then to Éponine, then Gavroche and finally back to him. "How long?" he asked quietly.

                Combeferre shook his head.

                Enjolras nodded.

                The gamine, who had apparently heard, sighed.

                "Well?" Gavroche asked and looked from grown-up to grown-up with innocent hope in his eyes. "Can ya help Théo?"

                It broke Combeferre's heart to look the gamin in the eyes and say "No." Even though he had studied medicine with all the passion and energy he had available, it pained him, pained him more than anything, to know that with all his training and desire to help, there was nothing he could do. The child would die tonight, and he was helpless to prevent it.

                "I told you, Gavroche," the girl muttered, not taking her eyes of the sick boy.

                The gamin turned to look at the older girl and Combeferre was surprised to see anger in his eyes that should have been beyond his years. "If ya would ‘ave let me ask for help sooner, maybe things would be different," he spat and there was a quiver in his voice that proved as a reminder of his true age.

                "It's just as too late now as it was yesterday, all you've done is just trouble the Messieurs for nothing," Éponine said in a low voice.

                "It was no trouble, Mademoiselle," Combeferre quickly interjected, "I only wish our presence could have provided some form of aid. Unfortunately, all we can do now is make the boy as comfortable as possible."

                Enjolras approached the improvised bedding and kneeled beside it, his jaw set as his eyes roamed over the child's emaciated form. "Should we move him?" he asked no one in particular, still not looking away from the boy. "Put him in a bed - "

                "No!"

                They were all startled when the boy suddenly spoke up, his voice ragged and faint, and he raised a small hand as if trying to grab at something.

                Enjolras and Éponine both moved their hands to intercept the child's but stopped mid motion when they realized what the other was doing.

                "Ya won't be moving ‘im," Gavroche informed them and looked away from his friend, "he almost never leaves this place."

                "Why is that?" Combeferre asked as he also approached the boy, knelt beside him and took the raised hand into his own, motioning for the other two to move so that he could tend to the child himself. He knew they had good intentions, but the fact remained that he was the more classified person to look after the ill.

                "Théo comes 'ere every day," Gavroche explained, keeping his gaze fixed on an invisible spot on the wall. He looked tired and sad, probably wishing he were anywhere else other than this alley. "A year ago, his mum and dad left 'im in this exact spot, sayin' _'we'll come back 'fer ya soon, ya just wait 'ere'_." He frowned. "They ain't come back yet, probably never will either." 

                "So he just keeps waiting?" Enjolras asked.

                "Every day," the gamin answered.

                The party fell silent as they all stared at little Théo, whose breath started coming in shallower and shallower by the minute.

They stayed like this for what felt like hours, and Combeferre could feel his head become heavy with exhaustion, and the only thing that kept him from nodding off was Enjolras, suddenly grasping at his shoulder.

                "Go home, 'Ferre," the blond said, in the same manner as he had told Enjolras only twenty four hours ago, "you are tired, and you have the morning shift at the Necker again."

                Combeferre shook his head. "I am well, I should not leave, I might still be able to do something for him," he replied weakly, even though he was very aware that all of his efforts would just be in vain.

                And of course, his best friend could see right through his wishful thinking. "Go home, there is nothing left to be done anymore," he repeated, much softer this time. "I will stay."

                "You are much more tired than I am," the medical student retorted and looked up into Enjolras tired eyes, "you barely slept last night, I should be convincing you to go home instead."

                "Why don't both of you just leave?"

                It was the gamine who had spoken, and the two men turned their gazes towards her. Her eyes once again lingered on Enjolras' face before returning them back to the ill child. "Gavroche and I will be enough."

                "Out of the question," the blond retorted sternly, "I will not allow a girl and two children to remain alone in this place for the entire night."

                The gamine snorted and shook her head in disbelief. She rose to her feet and faced the blond with a smirk, its sardonic nature getting lost behind the weariness of her face. "That did not stop us from spending last night in the same spot as well. I can very well take care of - "

                "Yes, yes, you can take care of yourself," Enjolras waved his hand in dismissal, "I know you can, Éponine, I have seen it with my own eyes. However, my decision is final. I will stay." The last sentence was directed both at the gamine and at Combeferre, so with a resigned sigh, the medical student acceded to his friend's wishes.

                Before he left, the medical student took one last look at Théodore, placed a hand on his forehead, and said a silent prayer for the child's soul.  He rose to his feet and after saying goodbye to his friend and the two street urchins (and apologizing once more to Gavroche), took his leave and began making his way towards his home.

                Just as he was about to round the corner, he took one last glance at the area the party of four occupied, and he saw that Enjolras and Éponine still seemed to be arguing with each other. Combeferre couldn't help but be struck by the image the two formed. There was intensity in their eyes as they stared at each other that sent shivers down his spine. He had never seen Enjolras look at someone that way before. 

He shook his head and tried to push the thought at the back of his mind. This was not the time to dwell on such things.

And so, he turned around, and sighed miserably at the thought of the long trek that awaited and the depressing scene he had to leave behind.

\---------------------------------

                "I still do not think your presence is necessary, and I do not appreciate you looking down at my capability of caring for myself," Éponine grumbled after Enjolras' friend was sufficiently far away not to hear. She did not want the revolutionary there. Somehow, she felt his presence would worsen the situation she already found herself in.

                "I am not looking down on anything, 'Ponine, I know you well enough to understand how capable you are. Do not assume I have so little understanding of the people or the world around me," he shot back, and his eyes bore into her own with indignation she did not enjoy, nor really understand. So she did what she knew best, she glared back.

                They stared at each other in silence for a moment, both unwilling to be the first to relent, and it was only when the ill child began moaning that the two finally broke eye-contact to turn to him.

                Éponine knelt back down to her original spot besides the improvised bedding, and to her surprise, Enjolras followed suit and sat in the spot next to hers.

                There was hesitation and anxiousness in his eyes as he stared at Théo. It seemed to her that even he did not quite know what to feel, but it was clear that the emotions were strong enough to cause a deep frown to permanently etch itself into his brow.

                After a while of stroking the boy's hair, the moaning and whimpering finally ceased.

Éponine let out a relieved sigh. Having the boy sleep rather than be awake throughout his final hours was definitely preferred, and she was thankful for discovering that this small action helped calm him. She had unconsciously started doing this while caring for him last night, during a very distressful moment when he had begun tossing, turning, and crying from sickness. Caressing his forehead seemed to make him relax immediately, and she wondered if this was something his mother used to do when the family had still been together.

                Silence once again fell in the dark alley. No one spoke to anyone, no one looked at each other, nor did they move. There were a few moments when the stillness was interrupted, some by Théo's groans or harsh breaths, once by Gavroche moving to sit with his back against the opposite wall, and once when someone entered the alley, but immediately turned around when they noticed it was already occupied.

                The church bells told Éponine that it was now four in the morning. Gavroche had since dozed off, Théo was still sleeping, but his breathing had become even shallower, and Enjolras was staring at nothing, but his eyes turned inside their sockets, like they did whenever he was deep in thought.

                She didn't know what possessed her to say what she said next, maybe it was the unbearable silence, or the whole atmosphere surrounding the situation, but when she finally realized what she had done, it was already too late.

                "Gavroche is my brother, you know?" Her voice was low and hoarse from not using it for the past few hours, and it was a good thing, as she did not want the kid to hear this conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Enjolras move slightly, which meant she had captured his attention, even though he said nothing in reply.

                "Ran away from the family when he was little," she continued for some reason, and her eyes settled on the sleeping gamin a few meters away. She let out a small chuckle. "I always said he was the smartest Thénardier. And the bravest. But don't tell him I said any of this. We never really speak of our relationship to anyone. Or to each other. Makes things easier."

                There was a pause, then the blond finally spoke, "Is that why you are here?" he asked, keeping his voice at the same low level as hers.

                She shrugged. There was no answer she could think of for this question. She had stayed because she had wanted to stay; she rarely needed more incentive to do things other than her own desires. Though as she looked at Gavroche, then at Théo, a certain memory returned to her, as it had several times since she had stumbled upon the alley.

                "I actually have two more brothers," Éponine muttered, still not sure why she was telling him any of this, but whatever the reason, she could not stop herself from sharing this little bit of her history with him. "One should be around seven or eight; the other would probably be about Théo's age."

                "Probably?" he asked.

                "I have not seen them in years," she replied, looking anywhere else other than at him, "my parents gave them away. Sold them. I was young; I do not even remember their faces." And at that moment, she paused, and took another glance at the ill boy. "For all I know, he could be one of them." She laughed weakly, as if it would somehow help lighten the atmosphere. It didn't.

                She knew he probably wasn't one of her little brothers, but just the thought of it made her heart constrict in fear and overwhelming sadness. If there was one thing she would regret for the rest of her days, it was standing by and doing nothing while her brothers disappeared one by one, leaving her and Azelma alone with the people she had to call her parents.

                "I'm sorry," was all Enjolras said, and she was grateful that he did not comment further. The negative opinion he must have had of her had probably worsened tenfold by now, but she knew the young man was the type of person who would never openly judge her – not to her face at least. 

                "But why are _you_ here?" Éponine asked, wanting to keep the conversation moving. She couldn't bear hearing nothing but Théo's ragged gasps anymore. She turned her head slightly to look at him, and was startled to realize that he was staring back at her, his gaze completely focused on her face and the frown in his brow slightly less pronounced than it had been previously.

                The moment their eyes met, he swiftly averted his gaze, taking to concentrate on the sick boy in front of him. He shifted uncomfortably and the troubled look returned to his features. "I am not sure," he answered, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice, "perhaps I am merely curious. Perhaps I am selfish... Or perhaps I hope to find something I am missing."

                "I... do not understand," the gamine replied, confused and bewildered by what he had just said.

                "I do not want you to understand."

                At that moment, Éponine thought Enjolras looked too old for his age. The frown lines on his forehead had already become a permanent feature on his face, the dark circles under his eyes were as pronounced as ever, and he looked so exhausted that she was filled with a sudden sense of pity for the young man. Whatever this revolution was, it was slowly tearing him apart, both physically and psychologically.

                There was nothing she could say to him, nothing she could do to make him feel better, and the only thing she did know would help was not possible at this moment.

                So silence fell again, and they sat that way for a while longer, until, to their dread, Théo began churning in the sheets, moaning and coughing as his breaths grew harsher than they had ever been.

                They both leaned forward, and Éponine once again tried stroking his hair, but this time it did not work, as the boy slowly opened his eyes and let them wander at the world around him.

                "Maman?"

                His voice was barely more than a ragged whisper, and it seemed as if speaking pained him. When he did not receive an answer, his face scrunched up and tears welled in his large brown eyes, probably the last remaining liquid his body had to offer. "Maman? Papa?" the child cried, and Éponine felt her heart slowly start breaking as the boy reached out a hand, as he had done before, trying to grab at something only he could, or could not see.

                She kept caressing his forehead, trying with all her might to keep her touch light and not let the panic and dread overwhelm her.

                "Maman... Papa..." the child kept whispering, and the longing and sadness in his voice made her physically sick. It was painful watching this. She wished she could avert her eyes, run away and pretend this never happened. Still, she did not move a muscle, she sat completely still except for the hand that never stopped stroking his hair.

                She looked over at Enjolras, who had caught the boy's small hand in his own much larger one, and held onto it tightly. His jaw was set, his skin had lost almost all color and his brow was lined with worry as he gazed at the withering child.

                It would not be long now.

                "Maman? Maman?" Théo kept chanting, as if in prayer, tears falling down a face that, had it not been deformed by poverty and disease, would surely have been beautiful and full of life.

                The neediness in his voice as he called out to his mother made Éponine angry; furious that this little boy had to face his final moments without his parents' love. _If_ there had been any love there to begin with. For how can one love something then so heartlessly abandon it, leave it to face this ugly world alone? It should have been impossible. It should not have happened. But it did, and she hated his parents for it. And she hated her own parents. And worst of all, she hated herself, because she knew she would probably turn out no better. 

                He was sobbing softly now, which seemed to make it even more difficult for him to breathe. It was a painful sort of crying, full of fear and sadness; the poor child probably had no clue as to what was happening to him, but it was unpleasant and it frightened him. It was natural and it was horrible to witness.

                The gamine turned to glance at the revolutionary, hoping to find some answer in his face as to what they should do, but as he looked back at her, she knew he felt just as helpless and resigned as she did.

                "Maman!" the boy tried to cry out, but the call turned into nothing but a cough, as his dry throat could no longer keep up with his words. "Maman," he wept and wept, and Éponine could finally bear it no longer.

                She bent down so that her face was only a few inches away from his. "I'm here, Théo," she whispered and began making soft shushing sounds as her fingers kept playing with his hair. "Maman is here."

                Glancing up at Enjolras, she saw he was staring back at her with his usual unreadable expression. He didn't say anything, but wordlessly watched as she comforted Théo and pretended to be the mother the child so desperately needed.

                It proved to be a good idea, as the child's sobbing soon died down, and only silent tears continued falling from his eyes. Then, he smiled a smile that hurt Éponine more than his crying and anguish had, and it made her realize what she had done was deceive him into happiness. She had tricked him into believing he was not alone, that he was still wanted and still loved by those who had abandoned him. Whether what she was doing was kind or cruel, it once again proved that lying was the only thing she was truly good at.

                "Maman?" the boy asked, his tone calmer but still rough from crying and from sickness.

                "Yes Théo?" she replied, hating herself more and more with each passing second.

                The child's eyes were searching for something, moving left and right incessantly, until they stopped to look at something behind her. His smile grew wider as he finally seemed to find what he was looking for. "Why is Papa not saying anything?"

                She froze, and out of the corner of her eye she caught Enjolras stiffening and swallowing hard. In his confliction, he had begun squeezing Théo's tiny hand in his, and when he turned to Éponine, she returned his apprehension with a silent plea that hopefully he noticed in her eyes.

                Apparently, he did, as he slowly shifted and leaned in towards Théo, his shoulder touching hers in the process. "I - " he cleared his throat, "I'm here."

                "Papa!" the child let out what was supposed to be a laugh, but sounded more like a dry hack. "Papa... Papa I lost your hat," he said and the sadness returned to his face as quickly as it had disappeared. In his delirium, the boy didn't notice the glance Éponine and Enjolras shared, and continued, "A big man took it from me. I tried to get it back, but he said I didn't need it. I followed him all the way to Picpus, but he still wouldn't give it," he started panting, "I asked him to give it back, but then he kicked me and I got scared." Tears of sadness and regret were once again flowing down his face. "I'm sorry Papa. I'm sorry I couldn't take care of your hat like you asked me to. I'm sorry."

                Enjolras clenched his jaw. He looked so lost and angry that Éponine couldn't help but feel sorry for him. "It's alright," the blond said slowly, "it's just a hat."

The child's crying grew in intensity. "Don't cry, petit," he panicked, "I am not upset, I swear it. It is just a hat."

                Sniffling, the boy raised wet eyes to look at what he thought was his father. "I promise I'll be more careful next time, Papa."

                "I'm sure you will," Enjolras replied softly.

                Théodore began squirming and panting, discomfort and pain etching themselves into his young features and he turned to Éponine with fear in his eyes. "I don't feel well, Maman,” he breathed, “I feel tired."

                Éponine inhaled a shaky breath. "I know," she tried to keep her voice steady, "you will feel better soon. I promise."

                His breath was coming in shallow gasps now; his eyes had lost their focus and were now staring aimlessly at air. Éponine could see the light in his eyes slowly dwindle to a small flicker, and as she kept stroking his hair, she felt his body temperature slowly dropping bit by bit.

                "I want to sleep, Maman," his voice was barely more than a murmur.

                "Then sleep," she replied.

                "You will be here when I wake, right?"

                "Of course," Enjolras answered.

                "Always," Éponine added.

                Then, with a content smile and one last gasp, the boy stilled.

\---------------------------------

                The night seemed darker and the air colder as Enjolras stared at the lifeless body of a five year-old child who breathed his last breath too soon. Everything felt wrong about the world in that moment, and he found himself in a place he didn't recognize, failed to understand and couldn't stomach. There was no rhyme or reason to the feelings he was experiencing. He wasn't sure if he even felt anything at all.

                Neither he nor Éponine moved for a while. How much time had passed, he didn't know; he was too numb to even discern between reality and nightmare, let alone measure time. 

                It was she who finally spoke first. "What do we do with him?" she asked, her voice muted and somber, as was her whole mien. He studied her face, trying to find some semblance of emotion in her blank expression, but even her eyes looked completely barren.

                Enjolras took a few deep breaths, trying to compose himself and regain some of his senses back. She had asked a good question and for some reason he felt it was his responsibility to come up with an answer. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and to evaluate the situation, as difficult as it was.

                Ideas were not coming to him as fast as they should. His mind was in disarray and his heart felt wounded. He was sad. He was sadder than he had ever been in his entire life. 

                He remembered how Théodore had innocently believed him to be his father, how his little hand had clenched around his, how he had affectionately called him 'Papa', how he had wept in fear of disappointing him, and how in those moments he had come to care for the child. He had loved Théo, even if their only short interaction had been nothing but a lie. He had loved him and now he mourned him.

                But there was no time to grieve, they had to move and something had to be done with him. With no small amount of difficulty, he managed to push aside his emotions and let reason once again govern him.

                "We will take him to a church," he said, and he was surprised to hear how harsh his voice sounded in his ears. "I will arrange for the boy to receive a proper burial. It is the least he deserves."

                The gamine nodded slowly. "That... is very kind of you." He noticed their shoulders were still touching. Yet neither changed their positions. He, for one, was not eager to move, as her skin emanated warmth he sorely needed at the moment.

                "I should wake Gavroche," Éponine muttered, and gingerly rose to her feet. Her eyes briefly glanced at her shoulder, then at his shoulder, and finally at his face, where she captured his gaze and kept it for a little while.

                "I will take the boy," he replied, and moved aside to allow her to pass.

                With trembling hands, Enjolras covered the child's body with the dirty sheets, forming a sort of cocoon around his meager frame. He clenched his jaw as he closed his blank eyes shut and covered his face with the sheets.

                Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Éponine wake Gavroche. As they spoke, the boy's features went from drowsy, to fully alert, to shock and finally to almost the same hollow expression his sister had worn moments ago. Now that he knew, it became strikingly obvious how similar these two were in appearance and character, in the way that only siblings could be. It saddened him that he had to notice under this type of circumstance.

                The gamin approached and his eyes glistened for a moment when he laid eyes on the bundle of sheets that surrounded his friend. He drew in a deep breath and his eyes once again became as dry as a bone, but there was stiffness in his posture that betrayed his emotions.

                Although he admired Gavroche’s bravery, there was a part of Enjolras that wished to comfort the boy, but there was also the part that didn't know how to behave in these sorts of situations, and then there was the part that needed comfort of his own. In the end, he said nothing.

                He bent down, picked up the heap that was once Theo, and led the way out of the alley and into the still dark Rue St. Germaine.

His arms felt heavy as he carried the small body. Even though the boy hardly weighed anything at all, the burden was real, and he could feel it in every corner of his body: his head, his muscles, and his heart. Nothing within him was functioning as it should and the strain on his psyche was slowly becoming unbearable. He needed to relieve himself of it.

                After walking in complete silence, the group at last reached the nearest church, where Enjolras spoke to the resident priest and arranged a funeral for the following day. Theo's body was then entrusted to the church and after one last glance at the child, Enjolras, Éponine and Gavroche found themselves outside, staring at each other in a tense silence.

                Taking a few Francs from his pocket, he handed them to the gamin, and insisted he use them to buy something to eat for himself and his friends. The street urchin didn't seem to have any fight left in him, so he accepted the money silently, and after receiving Enjolras' promise that he would receive news on the funeral's time and location, he took off without looking back. The blond could have sworn he saw Gavroche's shoulders start shaking as he slowly walked away.

                Enjolras didn't speak or look at Éponine; he just turned around and began walking with wide strides towards his apartment. After a while, he heard footsteps behind him, following from a few meters away, but he still did not turn around or say anything, and just kept moving.

                 When he reached his flat, he silently entered, left the door wide open and walked towards his bedroom. There, he sat on the bed and waited.

                Not five minutes passed and Éponine was standing before him, looking down at him with that same empty expression she had been wearing ever since witnessing Theo breath for the final time.

                The question that hung in the air was not why she was here, or why she approached him and sat on top of him, straddling his hips; the answer to that was as clear as the feeling of her lips brushing against his own - comfort, and a means to cope with the desolation that tore at their hearts. No, the real question that needed to be asked was if what they were doing right now, after all that had transpired, made them horrible people or not. Was seeking pleasure and sexual gratification when they had just witnessed what they had witnessed as disgusting and shameful as Enjolras thought it was? Probably. But while he was aware that what was happening was wrong, he needed it, perhaps just as much as she did.

                She kissed him softly, her lips barely grazing his own, but her body pressed hard against his and her hands buried themselves into his hair, grasping fistfuls of blond curls.

                His own arms enveloped her small frame, holding her tightly, preventing her from escaping his embrace, and slowly leaned back on the bed, pulling her down with him. He swiftly turned them around and directed her so that she now lay with her head resting on a pillow, with him beside her, laying on one side.

                Forcing her lips open with his tongue, their kiss intensified as their mouths yearned for each other's taste. He could feel the deep need for physical contact she emanated as she held on tightly to his arms as if he would disappear if she let go. 

                But as much as he enjoyed kissing her, the regular passion and fire they usually shared was missing. As his hands fumbled with her clothing, removing her undergarments and lifting her skirt up to her waist, he realized that the effects this normally had on him were not taking place.

                His hand reached in between Éponine’s thighs, seeking the moist heat between her legs, hoping the feel of her would elicit the necessary impulses in his body. But as he touched her, he realized she was facing the same problem.

He broke their kiss and they gazed at each other gasping for breath, and he saw the emotional burden she carried evident on her face, as sure as it must have been on his own.

                Tentatively, he began stroking her slit with a finger, slowly circling and pinching her clit, in the hopes it would get a reaction out of her body. She closed her eyes, and for a while it looked like she was enjoying it, but soon, the pleasure on her face turned to a frown and her whole body became rigid.

                "'Ponine," he called softly and cupped her chin in his free hand, forcing her to open her eyes.

                He understood. He knew what she was thinking and what she was seeing when her eyes were closed. It was the same for him. It was difficult to push away the sadness and anger, but this was why they were here in the first place, to give each other that small ounce of support they needed and relieve, in the way only the other could, at least a small part of that burden. 

                "Look at me, 'Ponine," he said gently as he gazed into her eyes. "Look at me and stop thinking."

                The gamine took a deep breath and nodded slowly; he felt her body relax slightly under his as she spread her legs open for him. "I need help," she muttered, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

                "So do I," Enjolras replied and with one hand, he unbuttoned his trousers and released his barely erect manhood. He exhaled harshly when she lowered her hand and clasped his tip in her palm. She started rubbing the length his cock in measured strokes and used her thumb to circle the area at the base of his head. Finally, he began feeling himself hardening in her hand, and as she caressed him, the strain in his body dissipated, leaving only a dull ache in his heart and a strong need in his crotch.

                For a moment, he considered lowering himself between her legs to use his mouth, but right now, maintaining their eye contact was just as necessary as her hand around his erection. He licked the base of his fingertips, wetting them slightly, and once again brought his hand to her center. He began tracing small circles over her sex, the moistness of his saliva taking place of her own juices, making the motions smoother and the pleasure hopefully greater for her. Her clitoris swelled against his fingers as he pinched and flicked the little nub, and finally he felt her arousal begin dripping from her opening.

                Their eyes were still locked, and as she began stroking his penis in a faster rhythm, he carefully inserted a finger into her slit and pumped into her at the same pace. It was still not quite as it usually was; the intensity of the pleasure was not even near the usual level, but still, the moment he felt her tight walls around his finger, he couldn't help but eagerly anticipate the moment he would replace it with his cock.

                "Touch my breast," Éponine told him as she began grinding her hips against his hand, her voice vibrating in time with his strokes.

                He shifted in his seat, and found he was unable to comfortably place his free hand on her mounds while keeping his other thrusting inside of her. So he slid her chemise down her shoulders to expose her chest, and bent down to capture her nipple with his mouth. He kept his eyes on her face, maintaining their eye contact as he sucked and dragged his tongue around her taut tip.

                He was almost hard enough to take her, but he wasn't sure if she was quite yet ready. Her center was moist, but the signs of arousal were still not showing on her face. The rosy shade her cheeks would take, the dampness of her brow, the wanting darkness of her eyes - they were not quite there yet. He inserted a second finger and began making slow circles inside of her, his thumb pressing against her clit in the hopes that it would bring out some of her usual vigor. His eyes searched her face for those signs while his tongue flicked against her hardened nipple, but whatever he did, among the slightly better response to his touch, all he saw was deep sadness and weariness in her eyes. It was so disheartening seeing her like this that he could feel his erection slowly lose its hardness in her palm.

                Apparently, she felt it as well, as she looked down at him and frowned. "Are you alright?" she asked softly and began rubbing his cock harder and faster. "Do you want me to use my mouth?"

                "No," he replied with a shake of his head, and slowly extracted his fingers from her slit, spreading her juices all around its surface as he did so. "May I?"

                Without even the slightest bit of hesitation, Éponine nodded, opened her legs and took a deep breath as he positioned himself on top of her.

                He kissed her softly on the lips before pressing his tip against her opening and slowly easing himself inside of her, spreading her open as his length filled every inch of her.

                She cringed when he began swaying his hips, making him stop after only a few thrusts. "Please touch my breasts," she told him again.

                Clenching his jaw, he perched himself on his elbows and cupped her mounds with both hands. He pinched and rolled her nipples between his fingers and began moving within her again. He kept a steady rhythm as their hips rocked against each other, he pushing his length up and down her center, she gyrating her sex in slow circles, helping him touch the small spot that caused her the most pleasure.

                They kept at it for over 20 minutes; he pounded into her in every way he knew how: fast, hard, slow, short strokes, long strokes, but she had barely moaned let alone come close to climaxing, and neither had he.

                As frustration and the ache in his thighs intensified, he stopped his motions, gasping for air, and groaned in desperation. He looked down at her with a questioning glance, and shook his head. "No?"

                She answered with her own shake of the head, the disappointment and sadness evident in her expression. He could tell she was just as exasperated as he was, but at this point, he simply had no idea what to do anymore.

                Enjolras needed this so badly. His body and his heart required release. He had to discharge his grief, it was the only way he could rid himself of all of this pain he was feeling, if not completely, then at least enough to allow him to get some sleep for the night. But by the way things were going, their minds were influencing their bodies too much, dulling the pleasure and rendering their efforts useless.

                With a defeated sigh, he moved to withdraw himself from within her, but was stopped by Éponine’s hands grabbing at his middle.

                "Wait," the gamine breathed and pulled him back to her, but directed his hips upwards so that he was now resting on his shins. "Don't move," she demanded and then began shifting under him.

                He stared at her in confusion and surprise as she lifted both her legs and propped her knees on his shoulders, her calves falling down his upper back, and tilted her pelvis upward so that her back formed a straight line angling up towards him.

His jaw fell at the feeling of this new position. He had complete access to her center and when he pushed inside of her, he could feel himself reaching the deepest reaches of her core. The tightness surrounding him was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

                She moaned when he sank his length all the way to the hilt and he wanted to breathe in relief when he finally saw pleasure showing on her face. Her mouth fell open as he very slowly began thrusting deeply within her, the rippling friction between them so acute it took both their breaths away.

                But as he began increasing his tempo, Enjolras noticed the gamine wince. "Shit!" she exclaimed when her pelvis slipped down a few millimeters and then tried to lift herself into position again.

                "Here," he said, taking the other pillow from his bed and shoving it under her bottom to help keep her hips up. "Better?"

                "Better," Éponine nodded, lifted her hands above her head and stared at him intently. "Move."

                Clenching his jaw, he grabbed her hands in his own and intertwined their fingers. With a growl, he bucked and drove into her with a newfound fervor, digging deep into her cavern and eliciting a throaty moan from her mouth. He rocked inside of her with all the energy he could muster, turning his anger into lust, and despair into passion, the crippling memories from a few hours ago glazing over and becoming nothing but a haze in his tired, aroused mind.

                Their eye contact was unwavering as Enjolras pounded into her. He squeezed her hands in his own to keep himself grounded, as the way she absorbed his full length into her tightness sent him almost into a dreamlike state. The walls of her vagina wrapped around his cock in such a perfect fit, that for a confusing second, he felt like he was where he should always be. He felt safe and protected by Éponine, as if no harm could come upon him in this moment. Or upon either of them, for he felt such protectiveness over the gamine that he would willingly do anything to keep her out of harm’s way and hidden from the cruelty of this world.   

                "Harder," she pleaded, "and deeper."

                Of course he would oblige. He spread his knees further apart, giving him more impetus and pushed his hardness into her with long, powerful strokes. He kept this rhythm up until her body began quivering under him.

                Her legs had wrapped themselves in a circle around his shoulders and the soles of her feet pressed painfully against the back of his head. But he didn't care. He pressed himself against her body, relishing in the feel of her all around him, and groaned when he felt her vagina constrict against his girth.

                Her moans turned into outcries as he increased the speed and strength of his last thrusts, and she finally flung her head back in climax, gasping and shivering in a moment of complete rapture.

                Seeing and feeling her reach her peak was the push Enjolras needed to jump over the edge and explode into a million pieces inside of her. He spurted his orgasm into her, filling her up to the brim with his ejaculate. The excess dripped down their thighs, mixing with the remnants of her own arousal and forming a blend of their essences that looked and gave off the distinct smell of sex.

                And at last, Enjolras felt like he could breathe again. His shoulders felt lighter, albeit still under pressure as they still were sustaining Éponine’s legs, and his mind felt a bit clearer, although there was still heaviness in his heart he knew would not leave him for a long while yet.

                Gingerly, he extracted himself from the gamine's spent womanhood, glad to finally be able to stretch his back, which he did, then buttoned up his pants and turned around to sit beside her on the bed.

                Éponine did not move for a while, breathing heavily with her legs sprawled open, his semen dripping out of her and down on the pillow that still help her behind up. He took a note not to use that one tonight. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and although she looked slightly more at peace, the sadness and hurt were still ever present.

                He wondered what the gamine was thinking. Was her mind still on Théo, or were memories of her own little brothers playing in her thoughts? As an only child, the blond couldn’t even come close to understanding what she might be feeling, and adding the significant differences between their upbringings made it even more difficult to get into the gamine’s mind.

                It was already dawn, and although the room grew brighter, the atmosphere around it grew darker and darker as the silence between the pair continued. Enjolras wondered if he should say something. Breach the subject. Perhaps offer some sort of verbal comfort, however much he doubted such words could properly come out of his mouth.

                "I should go," Éponine said all of a sudden, and faster than he could form a reply, grabbed her undergarments, hastily put them on and rose to her feet.

                Enjolras didn't stop her, but his eyes followed the gamine’s every movement as she walked the length of the room and prepared to open the door. There was an odd feeling of anxiety in his chest as he watched her retreat and disappear behind it, without even so much as a goodbye or a glance back. This worry was probably what pushed him to jump off the bed, follow her out into the living area, and call out to her just before she exited his apartment.

                "I will have Gavroche send word with the time of the funeral," he blurted, the need to see her face one more time before she left was almost overwhelming.

                Éponine turned around and gazed at him with that barren expression that was beginning to cause him pain the more he saw it, and slowly nodded. "Thank you," she mumbled softly, and without another word, opened the door and left.

                The air in his flat had become dry and stifling, and he once again started having difficulty breathing. Now that he found himself alone, there was nothing he could focus his thoughts and feelings on. Adding to that, Enjolras began feeling the lack of rest and mental exhaustion steadily resurface, causing his body to ache and yearn for the softness of his bed.

He went to open a window to let some fresh air in the room while he readied himself for bed, but after he opened it, he saw Éponine trotting down the street, the morning sun shining its weak rays upon the side of her weary face. He found himself following her with his gaze, leaning his forehead against the windowpane and breathing in the chilly morning air.

Enjolras couldn't help but remember his meeting with Arago from hours ago, and ultimately, to the dying general Lamarque as he finally lost sight of the gamine, who disappeared into some unknown, unsafe and unclean alleyway.

                "Hurry up and die, old man," he muttered to himself and he heard a deep darkness in his voice that had not been there before. "Die quickly, so that I may prevent more tragedies from occurring and save those whom can still be saved."

                He left the window open, and without bothering to change his clothes, fell headfirst onto his bed, falling asleep the moment his head touched the pillow that smelled of dirt, sweat, and a woman’s scent.

                Unbeknownst to either Enjolras or Éponine, another important event had taken place this night, but neither would become aware of it until much later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Terribly sorry about the sad in this chapter, but it was important for Enjolras' character development. I promise to make up for it next chapter.
> 
> Also, I don't know when I'll post chapter 6, I really hope I'll be able to get it done before the end of the month, as NaNoWriMo is coming up, so I probably won't be doing any work on tOO throughout November.
> 
> I promise to do my best though.
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter and thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE!
> 
> Guys, I am so, so, SO sorry for taking so long with this chapter! I got a job and it made writing almost impossible for the last several months. I know making you all wait so long is unacceptable, but hopefully this extra long chapter will make you all forgive me.
> 
> I honestly hope it won't take me as long to post the next chapter, but you can never know. Just let me say that I will finish this fic. I won't let myself abandon it. Even if it takes me 20 years, I will see to it that it's completed!
> 
> So, again, I'm very sorry and I hope you enjoy the chapter.
> 
> Dedicated to my friends and the Enjonine forum which turned 1 today.

_May 21st 1832_

Her feet were cold.

Her hands were cold, her head was cold, her legs were cold, her whole accursed body was cold.

Éponine was sitting on the cold stone floor of what one would expect her to call home, but instead felt more like a damp cave, empty and dark, its only meager quality being the roof overhead that protected from the heavy storm that had plagued the city for the last few days and continued to plague it still.

Her body was stiff and her muscles were tense as she shivered beside the ratty pile of rags and sheets she and Azelma shared as a bed. The rain poured outside as though God had spilled entire water buckets over the land, and even though it was the middle of spring, the chill in the air made it feel like a late, dreary autumn day.

She should feel lucky for not having to face the fury of the storm head on, like the great number of downtrodden whose home was the streets, but when she glanced over at the fury of her parents, who were arguing and spewing obscenities at each other in frustration of not being able to partake in their usual money-grabbing schemes, she couldn't help but look at the rain with longing.

Éponine had always loved the rain. The feeling of it pouring down her skin had a sort of cleansing effect, as if her sins and unhappiness were washed away by this natural baptism. The streets had a certain magical quality to them as droplets of water illuminated the skies and the air around her, allowing her imagination to soar in a hundred different directions, in a hundred different worlds. Life always seemed better when she was in the rain.

Her home though, was a different story, and it was when her father started growling and picked up the bottle that she knew it was time to get away.

Azelma was still blissfully asleep next to her, as she always was during this sort of weather. She was a bit like a cat in that way, becoming weak and sleepy whenever it rained. As a matter of fact, so had Éponine, which was odd since the weather never really had any effect on her. She attributed this unusual weariness to the fact that she had not had much to eat since the storm had begun; getting out and about while the streets were flooded wasn't very tempting, no matter how loudly her stomach growled.

She let Azelma sleep and hoped their parents would let her little sister be, while she raised herself to her feet and stealthily walked out the filthy room the Thénardier family rented.

Outside, in the corridor of the Gorbeau House, the first thing her eyes fell upon was the worn, peeling paint of the neighboring door. That door, _his door_ , in all its shabbiness always had a sort of magnetic feel to it, pulling her in and trapping her in its power, like magic.

' _Perhaps he will be glad to see me,_ ' she thought wistfully, half-hoping he would, half-knowing he would not.

After taking a deep breath, she rapped on the door and waited.

"Come in," she heard that soft clear voice from the other side of the door and shivered. The moment the sound hit her ears she felt that wonderful warmth erupt inside her chest and a smile she only smiled in his presence spread on her face.

She entered.

Marius was sat in a chair (the only chair) in front of a rotting table that served more as a desk, in a room similar to her own, albeit cleaner and less cluttered. He was hunched over a book in the way he always was whenever he read something that fascinated him. The young man turned around when she closed the door and greeted her with a small smile that sent her heart aflutter.

"Now what brings you here, 'Ponine?" he asked and eyed her with a raised brow.

The way he looked at her made heat rise to her face. It was almost impossible to meet that gaze directly, so she turned hers to the floor to look at her dirty bare feet and shrugged. "Just thought I'd visit and say hello, Monsieur. Thought you might enjoy some company on a lazy day like this."

"That is very kind of you," the young baron replied kindly and then sighed. "It _is_ rather boring," he complained, and Éponine couldn't help but think how childish and endearing he sounded. "It is impossible to go anywhere in this weather, not with trees and lampposts falling in the middle of the streets like they are. Not to mention the downpour..."

He sighed again and rested his chin on his hand as he stared out the window, as if believing he could will the clouds away by staring at them for long enough. "And there is so much to do, as well. Oh, I bet Enjolras is fuming right now." He chuckled at the notion and Éponine stiffened at the mention of the revolutionary leader.

"I should love to see him right now, he is probably glaring at the skies and wishing he could start a revolution against the weather if he could," Marius added with a charming laugh and turned to look at her as if he had just remembered she was there. "I'm sorry, you remember Enjolras, right?"

She kept her gaze fixed on the floor and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Oh come now, surely you remember," he continued. "You did that job for him some months back? I introduced the two of you myself."

"I remember, Monsieur," was her mumbled reply, which she hoped would be enough. Remembering the day her and Enjolras had met made the gamine uncomfortable to say the least, and talking to the man she loved about the one she was fucking felt even worse.

Luckily, he did not continue the topic and with a nod in her direction, returned to his book.

"What are you reading, Monsieur?" she asked and dared a step closer to the young man.

Without looking up from his reading, he breathed out his nose. "Just a book. Nothing that would be of interest to you," he added with a fleeting glance at her and a small smile.

Her back straightened and she frowned at this remark. "Why do you say that Monsieur?" she asked. "I do know how to read, you know."

"Oh yes, I am aware of that," he replied with another smile which, as charming as it was, seemed to have a slight annoying effect this time. "And a great quality it is to have, to be sure, but you see this is a book of law." He raised the book in his hands a little higher, and Éponine managed to read its title. She recognized it as being among Enjolras' collection as well.

"And what makes a book of law so special to make me so irrefutably disinterested in it? Or is it perhaps so boring that I would fall asleep immediately upon reading the introduction?" she asked briskly, having no idea why she had become so angry, but something in his words had made her brief good mood fly out the window and get washed away by the rain.

Marius responded a frown and a click of his tongue. "There, you see? There is no way you could appreciate this sort of thing without having sufficient understanding and attraction to the subject matter."

"I could learn, I am not stupid," she surprised them both by snapping at him.

Why was she acting this way?

"I know you are not stupid Éponine, I never said anything like that," he replied tersely, looking thoroughly confused and clearly displeased with her attitude. "I merely stated my honest opinion that there is nothing that could interest you in what I am reading. And what is wrong with you? Since when have you become so sensitive?"

That did it.

Her lips were pressed in a thin line and she felt her heart drum inside her chest in anger. "Well, Monsieur, perhaps you just know nothing about me!"

And with that, she stormed out of his room, leaving the baron to call after her as she ran down the stairs and out into the streets, ignoring the pouring rain and the flashes of lightning in the sky above.

She marched down the flooded road, not even bothering to lift her skirt up to save it from the muddy water that flowed freely all around her. She did not care anymore, not of the rain, not of the thunder, not of the cold.

All of those didn't even register anymore; her mind was too focused on the anger and regret in her heart. She wanted to cry.

' _What have I done?_ ' Éponine thought miserably. ' _He will hate me now, no doubt about it._ '

But she did not cry; instead she let the rain get in her eyes, pretending the droplets were her own tears and all the frustration seeped out of her through fake sniffles and pretend sobs.

It had been years since she had wept. The reason for this, she believed, was the hardening of her heart and becoming accustomed to the constant physical and psychological pain in her life. She had suffered too much for too long, and there were already no more tears to shed.

She had not even cried when poor Théo had died.

And she had tried. She had tried for days, but the tears just would not come. Or perhaps she really was that horrible a person. It certainly made more sense to her, especially after what had just happened with Marius.

Éponine hated herself. And she felt terrible because of it. She was sad, she was cold, and she was wet to the bone.

And she did not want to feel this way anymore, which was why she was running in this particular direction in the first place.

-e-e-e-e-

' _Good God, why now?_ ' Enjolras thought bitterly as he stared out his sitting room window.

It had been three days already. Three whole days and two cancelled meetings since this accursed storm had reared its ugly head. This would not do. There should only be so much water the skies could spew out and no, he did not care what Combeferre said about the atmosphere and condensation and whatnot, it still made no sense to him.

This was just another reason why Enjolras hated the rain. He hated the humidity in the air that affected paper and made the ink take much too long to dry, the bad lighting that made writing and reading unpleasant on the eyes, and the horrible lethargy that kept him from operating at his maximum efficiency.

He rose from his desk, where he had been busying himself with some long overdue studying and paperwork, and began pacing about the room to get the blood flowing in his body again.

The better part of these past rainy days had been spent buried knee deep in books and research, and while there was more than enough work to be done, he had to admit, he had not been this well rested in months. Of course, having the opportunity to get the required daily amount of sleep was a luxury not to be taken for granted, but the timing simply could not have been worse.

It was pleasant getting the opportunity to study as he once used to, reading and learning new things with every turn of the page, but with General Lamarque slowly but surely dying, it was of the essence that the proverbial calm before the storm be fully taken advantage of. These days were supposed to be spent planning and organizing their numbers, not wasting them cooped up in his flat with barely a means of contact with the outside world.

But alas, it appeared as if God had different plans.

Enjolras stretched his limbs and moved to sit back down and resume his work, but his stride was stopped short by the sound of someone knocking on his front door.

' _Curious,_ ' he thought, ' _who could have possibly come visit in this sort of weather?_ ' It could not be Combeferre; the poor man had been forced to swim his way to the Necker for the night shift.

After another knock he acquiesced and unenthusiastically went to open the door, not particularly in the mood for company unless it was of the official kind, which he doubted was the case.

And he was right.

Enjolras did not know whether to be surprised, groan, be worried or relieved when he found Éponine at his doorstep, dripping wet from head to bare feet, shivering from the cold, but otherwise in one piece. He should have guessed it would be her.

"I'm cold," she said through the chattering of her teeth. Her eyes appeared larger as she stared up at him expectantly, perhaps due to her damp hair that stuck to her face, or to its pronounced thinness; it seemed as though she had not eaten in a while again.

It was naturally impossible to turn her away like this, so with a resigned sigh, he stepped aside and allowed the gamine entrance.

"What are you doing here?" he asked and followed her as she hesitantly stepped in – an odd thing, as she never had any problems entering his home before; or breaking into it, for that matter.

It was unexpected that she would come here in this sort of weather, the Gorbeau House being a good walk away from his own tenement, and it was hard to believe she would go so far just for a few minutes of corporal gratification. This meant, if he was correct in his assessment, something had happened.

She stood in the middle of the room and kept her eyes to her feet. Her shoulders were sagged and through the trembling of her body, he could see weariness and sadness in her countenance; yes, something had definitely happened.

But just as he was about to inquire once again as to why she had come, Éponine beat him to it and spoke first. "May I use your washroom?" she asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

He frowned, but nodded and pointed her in the right direction either way. How could he refuse? Especially after the dejected tone of voice and look on her face.

His eyes followed the gamine as she dragged her feet and disappeared behind the washroom door, leaving him standing on his own, confused and racking his brain in attempt to understand what in the world had just happened.

The moment he had laid eyes on Éponine at his doorstep, an odd feeling had surfaced inside Enjolras' chest. He had not seen the girl once since young Théodore had died, which had been a full ten days ago, and was brusquely reminded of the worry he had felt for her in the days after the tragic night. They had not parted in the most agreeable of ways and though he had had a hunch as to why she had not attended the boy's funeral, it had still come as an unexpected and unpleasant surprise.

Everyone had been there to bid their farewells; he, Combeferre, Gavroche and his friends, even Les Amis de l'ABC had insisted on joining after hearing of the little boy's plight. Théo had not gone alone, true, but when Enjolras had watched the dirt fall on the small wooden coffin, he could not help but miss Éponine's presence by his side. He had never felt more alone in that moment, nor more disappointed and heartbroken.

It would have pained her to be there, he knew this, but Enjolras believed it had been their moral obligation to be present for the child's last moments on the surface of this earth. Even if it had been said as a white lie, he and Éponine had promised to remain by his side until the end, and he felt like she had broken that promise.

Yes, he had been upset with her for a little while. That is, until a few days after when he had asked Gavroche if he had known of the reason behind Éponine's absence.

What her little brother had told him (how odd it was to think of the gamin as Éponine's sibling; even now it had not sunk in) had completely evaporated his dissatisfaction with the girl.

He learned that she had indeed visited the grave, but alone and only after everyone else had left the site. Not only that, but she had continued visiting and sitting in front of Théo's cross each day for hours on end.

After hearing this, he remembered first feeling his heart swell inside his chest, then it quickly constrict and aching at the thought of the gamine sitting on her own in front of the child's resting place. He could almost see the sadness and pain in her eyes that never shed a tear.

He had struggled with the urge to run to her and ascertain all was well with her body and soul, but every time he had come close to doing so, reason would stop him and his mind would tell him it was none of his concern. So he chose to let her be and continue fighting the bigger war, which would ultimately prevent tragedies like Théo's from ever happening again.

After a little while, the washroom door opened and Enjolras turned to meet the gamine once again, ready to ask the question she had yet to answer, but when his eyes fell on her all words were slapped back into his throat along with his breath.

Éponine came out wearing nothing but one of his worn shirts, probably taken from the wash pile he kept in the washroom, and looking not only strikingly indecent but also strikingly attractive. The hem barely reached the middle of her thighs, leaving the better part of her legs completely bare, and as she approached he could see the sheen of her damp skin that had not yet dried and that reflected the dim light of the room in such a way that, combined with the white of his shirt, made it seem like she was glowing. For a moment, he was completely mesmerized before noticing with a hint of amusement that the shirt was too large for her. She had to readjust it on her shoulders as it kept sliding off one of them with every step she took. Her hands had completely disappeared inside the much too long sleeves and the dip of her breasts was startlingly visible, as what was a regular cut collar for him was one of the lowest for her much narrower body.

"My clothes were too wet," the gamine explained even though he had not asked. Her lips twitched when she caught him staring at her exposed skin. "I hope you do not mind," she added and pointed to her outfit.

Enjolras swallowed a lump in his throat and found the temperature was growing hotter the more he looked at her. It took a great deal of willpower to avert his eyes from her scantily clad body and direct it at her face; he had always found himself nothing short of entranced before Éponine's skin. Oddly enough, even though she was for the most part covered, watching the soft fabric of his own shirt flow along her womanly shapes provoked a storm in his body that was just as intense as if she were completely nude.

There were no words he could speak that would not betray his less than proper thoughts, so he settled with just shaking his head 'no' and turned away to continue his work, or at least make an attempt at it, if only until his heart stopped racing and the uncomfortable tightness in his pants loosened.

Keeping his distance was essential. Enjolras knew that just by looking at the gamine for a prolonged period of time would surely end in loss of reason, as it always did. The physical attraction that existed between them was, as unpleasant as it was to admit, undeniable any longer. She may not have been conventionally pretty, but there had always been something about Éponine that had allured him from the very start, and it was with no little amount of surprise that he realized his attraction was only growing stronger.

His hand clenched on his pen. Enjolras knew his fighting will was growing weaker and he caved in to Éponine's perverse, but nonetheless appealing charms with much greater ease than before. He was growing accustomed to it, to _her_ , and this worried him.

Yet, thinking back on their last night together, at the comfort she had provided in that time of anguish and all the other occasions in which he had benefited from being with her, could it really be a surprise that his resolution to end their connection had waned? She offered him release and relief, and in these trying times, how could it be easy to say no?

Enjolras kept on pondering this less than ideal situation he found himself in until he realized with great surprise that half an hour had passed and the gamine had still not said or done a single thing.

Confusion (and only a small hint of curiosity) made him turn his head to quickly peek at his guest. Where he had been only glancing at first, he turned to fully stare when he saw her sitting on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and gazing pensively out the window with an inscrutable expression.

"'Ponine, what are you doing?"

The way she started when he spoke revealed she had been completely lost in thought as well, probably having even forgotten his presence, which was a slightly irritating notion, seeing as she was in _his_ home. And her using only a simple shrug as an answer was even more irritating. God, how he hated this childish habit of hers.

"Get off the floor, Éponine, it is cold. You will get sick."

Her head turned to glance up at him, and she smiled a smile that did not spread to her eyes. "Your floor is warmer than my own bed, Monsieur. Do not worry about me and return to your work, I promise I will not disturb you."

' _Now this is out of the ordinary indeed_ ', he thought, narrowing his eyes at her.

Enjolras contemplated her for a long while. She did seem to look as dejected as ever as well as unusually tired, and for a moment he fretted the gamine might have truly been sick, as there was also a bit of a pallor to her face.

"Please sit on the sofa," Enjolras requested again.

"No."

"Éponine, I insist," he said through gritted teeth, already starting to lose his patience.

"I do not want to."

His head and hands shot up in exasperation. "Good God, 'Ponine, why in the world do you so adamantly refuse to sit on the damned sofa? You have refused to do so ever since the very first time you set foot in this apartment!"

Her eyes went from him, to the piece of furniture, and then back to him. "I just like it too much."

This made him pause and give her a withering look. "You like it?" he deadpanned, unable to make sense of her reasoning.

The gamine nodded.

"You like it, yet you refuse to even touch it. Forgive me Éponine, but you have lost me."

She sighed and shifted uncomfortably. "I just think it's too beautiful," the girl replied, looking wistfully at the red fabric of his sofa. Her jaw visibly clenched, then loosened, and she continued, lowering her gaze to look at her dirty feet. "It is beautiful. And Elegant. And Majestic." She smiled. "A little bit like you, actually."

He made a face. "Those are not adjectives I take much pride in being attributed, if I may be frank."

"Well they are meant as a compliment, so you should at least say thank you," she snapped back, and for a moment, Enjolras could see the usual Éponine shining through the dispiritedness.

It made him smile. "Thank you," he indulged her, even though he still was not particularly happy about being called beautiful and elegant, and especially not majestic. "That still does not explain why you refuse to touch it."

Then, just as quick as her expression had livened, it darkened once again, like a room after the last candle had blown out, slowly replacing its dim light with darkness and shadow. "I have soiled you enough, Monsieur," her voice was barely more than a whisper. "I am dirty. I am dirty and I do not wish to soil the only other beautiful thing you own as well."

His eyebrows shot up and he did a double take. Was this really what she believed? Did this girl really hate herself so completely she actually thought of herself in such a way? Was she actually stupid?!

A burning need to prove her wrong erupted inside his chest. He wanted to shake some sense into her, to yell that she was not filth like she erroneously thought, to explain that she did not soil, dirty, or stain him in any way.

Enjolras was a grown man; it was not like he had been an oblivious little boy all those months ago when they had come together as man and woman for the first time. In the end, he had accepted her then, as well as every other time she had called upon him. She had not soiled him, they had both been unclean from the very beginning.

"Why are you here, 'Ponine?" he asked once again.

And again, she responded with a shrug. "I came here to fuck you, but now, I've lost my appetite."

"Did something happen?" he pressed on, and then a dark theory sprang up in his head. "Does it have something to do with Pontmercy?"

Her body language told him all he needed to know; the straightness of her back, the rapid blinking of her eyes, the twitching of her lips, the avoidance of eye contact; it was so obvious it made the bile rise to his throat.

"You have some nerve," he snarled and turned away, unable to bear looking at her guilty face any longer, and sought to bury his head back into the comfort of his book where nothing could damage, anger, or sadden him the way reality around Éponine had the habit of doing.

The fury that coursed throughout his being was dangerous. Enjolras knew he should not be surprised; her affections for Pontmercy had never been a secret to him, and even though he knew too well what she felt for the baron, the distaste and anger that she still considered him a replacement for that fool could not be contained.

Time passed in complete silence, he reading his book, letting written words slowly soothe his anger, and she sitting quietly in her corner, shuffling a little here and there, but for the most part remaining thankfully still.

"What are you reading?" Éponine's voice came out of nowhere, piercing the silence with her hoarse, tired voice that rang in his ears with protruding violence. He wondered whether he should reply or continue ignoring her, but the next bolt of lightning reminded that the pair was still in the unhappy predicament of being stuck together for the time being.

"Discourse on the Origin and Basis of Inequality Among Men. Jean-Jacques Rousseau," he answered curtly.

"What is it about?"

Enjolras' brows rose slightly. He had not been aware the gamine had any interest in books and culture, but it was a pleasant surprise to be sure, and it was certainly compulsion enough to answer.

"It is about the origin of civil society and the basic fundamentals that have preserved the human species throughout time."

"...What?"

Enjolras winced. There he went again.

The blond had never considered himself a great teacher; he had a tendency to forget there were people who had not been lucky enough to receive a higher education, or even learn how to read, which had been the reason he had undergone a new learning experience of his own, in the form of simplifying his words to be on the same level as the regular man. But it was something he had not yet mastered, so it was not a natural thing that came to him; as such, he took a moment to rephrase the sentence in his mind and turned around so he could face her properly.

But before he could speak, her expression took him by surprise enough that he forgot his words. She was gazing up at him intently with a locked jaw, and he might have been mistaken, but it seemed as if Éponine was getting ready for a fight. Truly, she was acting very odd today.

He cleared his throat. "Rousseau believes that moral inequality is the source of civil differences in power and wealth among people," he began slowly and patiently, as Combeferre had instructed, wanting her to hear and understand every word he spoke. It was not as if he believed Éponine could not understand, on the contrary, he knew she had great power of comprehemnsion, but the subject matter in itself was not a simple one, and there were numerous scholars who to this day had difficulty in understanding Rousseau's work.

Her eyes widened as he spoke, and though she was staring up at him in complete disbelief, the gamine was completely focused on his words and their meaning.

The corners of his lips twitched and he almost smiled. "You see, man has two fundamentals:" he added, holding up two fingers to show his point, "his love of self and compassion for others; this is Rousseau's 'natural man' – ah, that means we must think of man as he was in nature not as he is now, deformed by society, but as in his most basic form."

"You mean, like an infant?" Éponine cut in, her brow aligned with concentration. She looked like a small child as she listened to his stories, eager to learn and discover the mysteries that those with more years and knowledge had the power to shed light on (although Enjolras did not particularly believe himself to fit the profile very well).

Still, he smiled and nodded approvingly. "Yes, 'Ponine, that is very close. Man in this state has few needs: food, sleep, and females being the most basic of them all. He has no idea of good and evil, and he rarely interacts with other humans. Yet man, in this natural state, is inherently happy."

"But man changed, right?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"You are correct again! Man does change. With time." He replied, trying to make his pleasure and pride in the gamine's interest in his words not too evident. "That is due to his perfectibility, which allows him to be shaped by his environment. Thus, forced by circumstance, men started living in groups, which finally lead to the formation of what we now call a society. And as man begins to develop in this new environment, among others, pity and self-preservation are replaced by _amour-propre_ , the love of self, driven by comparing themselves to others and the need to dominate in order to be happy. This, in turn, led to the creation of property and the division of labor, and the beginning of what we know as moral inequality. To shorten things, Rousseau believed inequality is natural only when it relates to physical differences between men, but in our current, modern societies, evolution has corrupted man and subjected him to laws and property. Now, wealth has become the standard by which men are compared and money is the only measure of value."

"And you want to change that," Éponine said this not as a question, but more as a statement.

"I _will_ change that."

"You might die in the process," she replied and looked up at him with those brown eyes that showed no emotion, but could so easily rouse them in the ones they were aimed at. In Enjolras's especially, and especially now, when he was at a point in his life where his heart was so easily stirred by the smallest of things, and Éponine's eyes were anything but small to him. They never had been.

"Then so be it," he retorted, still managing to keep his voice level, his head held high and his back straight, exuding confidence, determination and faith, not in himself, but in the righteousness of the dream and his path, even though he knew it might lead him and most, if not all of his friends to a literal dead end.

He had come to understand and come to terms with the fact that sacrifices could not and should not be avoided, not if those sacrifices propitiated the salvation of France. If the situation required it, Enjolras was prepared and glad to offer his blood as a gift to his motherland if only it would result in victory and the dawning of a new and better age.

Éponine shook her head; she never had been of the same mind as he when it came to their dreams of a better future, their ideas of salvation forever fated to be in opposition.

Silence returned and the air in the room became heavy as the gray afternoon slowly turned into dark blue evening.

"That was kind of you…" Éponine broke through the quiet again, "…explaining your book to me." Her attention was now focused on a loose thread from the hem of his shirt that she had started twirling in her fingers.

Enjolras tried very hard to not stare at the extra bit of skin she was exposing as she kept tugging at the material. Then her words sank in and he was left confused.

"You say it like you were expecting me not to."

"Most people would not bother taking the time," Éponine replied with a shrug and snapped the thread off the hem.

"You asked and I answered," Enjolras tried to impart this common knowledge she seemed to be lacking. "It is common courtesy. And then, I would never purposefully hold a person back from learning something they wished to learn. If anything, I would encourage it. Education is one of this country's most prominent problems and it will continue to be so until it is offered freely to those who wish for it."

"Another thing you plan to change?" the gamine smiled a lopsided grin.

"Another thing I _will_ change."

And at hearing that, her grin became a smile that might have been one of disbelief or belief or maybe defeat; whichever it was she did not argue, which, considering this was Éponine, was always a blessing.

Suddenly, he remembered something. "Are you hungry?"

This took the gamine aback, but after a moment's consideration, she nodded.

He had worried she might become offended and think she was treating her like a charity case, but when he brought her a plate of bread, cheese, fruit and a glass of wine and saw how she gobbled everything without so much as batting an eyelash, he realized hunger must have outweighed her pride. He wondered how long it had been since her last meal, but he knew better than to ask, so he let her eat in peace and returned to his readings.

While she was distracted she would not be a distraction to him. He was working hard on his immunity against her pull. Enjolras thought he had been doing well, but then Éponine rose to her feet.

She started pacing about the room, not actually approaching him, _thank God_ , but still making work impossible, his senses now much too focused on Éponine's every movement and his ears becoming tuned to her smallest of motions. Enjolras could tell exactly where she was and what she was doing without even needing to look. His eyes closed as his mind drifted away, the image of her walking around his flat, his shirt flowing around her bare thighs reappearing on his eyelids, giving way to a new insurgence of heat and tension throughout his being.

The sound of movement was replaced by the sound of rustling paper and the blond realized she had reached the bookcase. This didn't bother him, quite the opposite. The gamine's interest in reading and gaining knowledge pleased Enjolras so much he was already making a mental list of books she might enjoy.

"What is this?" Éponine asked all of a sudden, prompting Enjolras to turn his head to see what she was referring to.

He immediately froze when he saw what it was.

The speed with which he jumped out of his seat and yanked the folder filled with papers she had been examining out of her hands could have been considered godlike.

"Don't touch that!" He clutched the folder to his chest and took a few steps backwards, praying to the higher power she had not gotten the chance to see its contents.

"Was that sheet music?"

_Shit!_

"No! It was not! It was nothing of the sort!" Sweat was beginning to form along his brow and he cursed his bodily functions for betraying him when he needed his composure most.

Éponine's eyes had widened and there was a mischievous gleam behind them he knew could only bring forth disaster.

"Monsieur, are you a musician?"

Enjolras looked away. "No."

"You lie."

"I do not!"

Oh, if only she were that easy to fool.

"Have I discovered some deep, dark secret of yours?" she chuckled, most certainly relishing in the idea of having found blackmail worthy material on him.

"I have no secrets!" he snapped back, irritated at her offending, albeit slightly true assumption. In truth, this was not a secret per say, it was just a secret he kept from her; or truer yet, it was something that had never come up in any of their very brief, very impersonal discussions and he saw no reason why it ever should.

To further his disdain, Éponine then snorted and rolled her eyes at him. "Please, you are more of a mystery than any of the books in that bookshelf, which at least are willing to divulge their secrets should you want to find it. You, on the other hand, are like a padlocked journal and it is only you who holds its key."

His head snapped in her direction. "That could not be farther from the truth!"

Her raised eyebrow betrayed her disbelief and Enjolras realized there was no possibility this stubborn girl could be persuaded to abandon the subject, so with a deep breath and silent curse of his luck, he raised his white flag.

"Very well, 'Ponine. If you really must know I am in fact _not_ a musician. I do not compose or write," his jaw clenched and then unclenched, "I am just a violinist."

In contrast to his set jaw, Éponine's deftly fell to the proverbial floor. She stood gaping, quite rudely if you asked him, for the better part of a minute until a sudden look of realization lit her face, followed by a wide, excited grin.

"The violin! That is amazing, why did you never say anything? Oh, now you must play something for me!"

"Out of the question," he deadpanned, took his sheet music and placed it safely on the top of the bookshelf where she would not be able to reach it again.

"But why?" she whined and pouted. How her mien could possibly change so abruptly in the span of minutes was an enigma; one moment she was gloomy and weary, the next she was practically bouncing on her heels like an excited child. As endearing as it was, in an odd, twisted sort of way, it was more frustrating and confusing than anything else, especially since this was not typical behavior for the gamine.

"Do you not like playing?" She continued. "Is this one of those cases where the son is forced to imitate the parents and learn to do things they do not like for the sake of propriety and family reputation?"

Enjolras made a face. "Now where did you ever get that idea?" Her odd, slightly clichéd scenario made it difficult for him not to burst into laughter, and were it not for his manners, he would have called it silly.

"Is that not the case for most rich young men?" She shrugged and smirked. "I always thought a rebel such as yourself would disagree with your parents even on the color of the sky, if only for the sake of having a different opinion than the majority."

So now she was making fun of him. Not particularly welcomed, but at least the 'Ponine he was used to was slowly returning to him.

"You will be disappointed then, to know that my family and I get along quite well." He returned to his seat, bidding her to take one for herself and rolled his eyes when she stubbornly sat herself down back on the floor.

"It is true, my parents and I have not spoken often since I relocated to Paris," he continued, "but I have kept in touch with them via monthly letters and the occasional visit."

She nodded slowly. "And they approve of you having become the face of a national movement that could very well mark the end of monarchical France and change the face of a whole nation as we know it?"

"Ah," Enjolras shifted in his seat and looked down at his feet. "That… has not exactly come up in our letters. _Yet_. I fully intend to explain… When the time is right, of course."

"Of course." He could hear her smirk; it made him cringe. "Still, do you think they will be upset when they hear of what you've been doing in Paris all this time?"

"That is a very good question," he replied, resting his chin on the knuckles of his right hand. "My father would be upset I've neglected my studies, my grandfather would think it a waste of my 'talents', and my mother would probably be too preoccupied fretting over my safety to be angry." He shrugged. "They would not be happy, but I suppose if they saw how passionate I am for the cause they would support and wish me luck with whatever I intend to do, if of course I made the honest promise to take care and not get myself injured, or worse."

Éponine silently listened and smiled as he spoke, but her overly expressive eyes told him it was not a genuine one.

"That must be nice, having parents who love and support you like that. I used to have that too, you know." She spoke with the bitterness of old age, about a time that appeared to be long gone, when new scars and bruises did not sprout on her body each day and she did not instantly recoil at words such as 'family' or 'parent'.

"I am sorry." Enjolras felt the need to apologize, not for bringing the subject up, for which he was not to blame, but for having the unfair privilege of growing up in a warm, happy household, while she had to suffer horrors he would rather not imagine. He wondered why differences like these had to exist between people and what he could possibly do to make them end.

The danger of another bout of uncomfortable silence hung gloomily in the air. Éponine must have sensed it too as she quickly cleared her throat and put on another fake smile.

"So, if you don't dislike playing music, why were you so against doing it for me?"

Ah, of course she would not forget, how could he have been so naïve in thinking she would so easily let the matter drop? Once something sparked Éponine's curiosity, there was no army on earth that could stop her from satisfying it. Enjolras truly didn't know whether to call this a quality or a defect, but he did know that battling her would be futile, and neither offense nor defense could possibly save him now.

He sighed.

"You will forgive me, I pray, but playing for you now would make me highly uncomfortable. Performing in front of a room full of people is one thing, but I have never seemed to easily play in front of a small audience, and certainly not by myself. Besides, I must confess I have not put a hand on the violin for quite a while. I am out of practice and therefore, if you will forgive the colloquialism, a bit rusty."

She stared at him blankly. "You mean you refuse to play because you are not in top shape and are too shy to do it in front of me?"

"I am not shy!" he spluttered

"Oh, don't be childish," she had the nerve to call the kettle black. "Who cares if you're out of practice, I couldn't be able to tell the difference anyway. And besides," she smirked, "I have seen you do things much more outrageous than that.",

Enjolras buried his head in his hands and shook it tiredly, suppressing a groan, now wondering if his death really would end up being embarrassment-induced, with this girl as the trigger.

He heard her sigh. "If you really don't want to play for me, then can I at least look at the sheet music a bit more? I have never seen –"

"No!" his head snapped up instantly, startling her. "I said you are not allowed to touch them, and I meant it!"

"Good God, why the hell not?! Are they written in gold ink?! Did Rousseau use them to wipe his ass?! What is wrong with you?!"

Her vulgarity made him wince. "Those sheets were given to me by someone very special," he spat, "and they mean a great deal. I do not want to see them damaged or lost, therefore you cannot touch them."

Her brows furrowed and her gaze wandered between him and the bookcase for a while, looking thoroughly confused, as if the fact that Enjolras thought of someone as being special was a comical absurdity. "Who?"

The question left Enjolras in search of breath, the important memory of one of the most overwhelming moments of his life suddenly resurfacing and a great wave of nostalgia hit him squarely in the heart.

It had been one year ago when Enjolras had received an invitation to a soiree hosted by a famous politician, friend of his father, and outspoken supporter of King Louis-Philippe. Normally, he would never have set foot into that monarchist scum's home, but a certain name heard in passing had made the blond drop all discontent and hatred of the host in favor of a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet a living legend, the most phenomenal man alive.

"Nicolo Paganini."

There was a short pause before Éponine blinked and wrinkled her nose. "Who?"

"…what do you mean who?"

"I mean I have no clue who that is."

Enjolras closed his eyes and slowly counted to three; it did him no good.

"Good Lord, have you been living in a cave?" he exclaimed, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

"No, but I have lived under a bridge, thank you very much," she shot back. a slap in the face would have stung less.

"Oh," he replied weakly and bowed his head, shame deepening his voice. "Forgive me."

Why were his skills at speaking and diplomacy for naught when in Éponine's presence? Why did he always seem to make a mess of things with her? And why did he keep forgetting not all people had access to certain news and knowledge, no matter how common sense he thought it was?

"Paganini is considered the greatest violinist of our time. He is a star of the music world and his name is as widespread as that of kings. He truly is very famous; I thought you must have at least heard of him. Forgive me for making assumptions."

"Well, I have not." Éponine shrugged, the fact that she had not been privy to this particular bit of news not seeming to be too concern-worthy.

"So, this person gave you the sheet music?" she asked.

"He did!" Enjolras' chest swelled with pride and he could already feel the excitement bubble within as the memory of the greatest moment of his life flowed into words.

"You see -"

-e-e-e-e-

\- I was attending a social gathering a politician, an old school friend of my father's was throwing. It was an auspicious event, full of royals, nobles, and upper bourgeoisie, so naturally, I despised every second of it.

But nausea and loathing of the guests aside, at the center of this gathering, the reason I had acquiesced to attend in the first place, was Nicolo Paganini himself. Monsieur Beaufort, the host, had advertised the Maestro's presence for a long time, and you can imagine only the elite of the French aristocracy would be given the privilege of watching him perform.

As luck would have it, my parents were unable to travel to Paris due to my father spraining his back during a sparring match. Oh, he practices Savate as well; taught me all I know. Canne de combat I learned from my grandfather, back when he was still able bodied.

But I digress.

Because a member of the Enjolras family was required to attend the party, the task fell onto me as the only son and the closest distance-wise to the Beaufort estate. I have to mention my father was positively livid for not being capable of making the journey. As an accomplished violinist - he was also the one who taught me how to play - to miss the opportunity to meet the ultimate genius of the music world was nothing short of devastating. I almost felt sorry for him.

But back to the event.

I had finally seen him in the flesh. Paganini was a remarkable figure to behold: his tall figure, almost a head taller than myself, long limbs, and most noticeably, impossibly large hands made him stand out among the other guests with unintentional ease. Though his out of the ordinary appearance could not compare with the force of his presence and charisma; I assume his Italian blood helped him well enough in that area.

My eyes were completely captivated by his movements. He walked in long, lean strides, his hands made flourishing motions as he spoke, and even his head was majestic as it nodded gracefully or shook gently.

I was never one to run from social interaction, but even I could not bring myself to approach the Maestro; his presence was far too bright and I felt like whatever I said could never be worthy enough of his ears. So I remained in the background, content with simply watching and avoiding the other guests, whom I could not even stand being near, as Paganini began performing.

I have to tell you 'Ponine, until that moment I had always believed that man was a flawed beast, limited in its abilities, restricted in its potential, prey to the limits of the body. You have no idea how wrong that notion was.

It was unbelievable. Simply, wholly, unbelievable!

My eyes could not keep up with his fingers and his bow glided so seamlessly over the chords it appeared as if it were a sharp knife cutting warm butter. The notes were clearer than crystal; the sounds were not just heard, but they could be felt and seen in his body, in his passion which burned brighter than any star I had ever seen.

Oh, I wish I could describe the full effect, but there are things that tales cannot do them justice, they must be experienced with all one's five senses to be understood and appreciated in their fullness. Nicolo Paganini is one such thing.

He performed all of his Capricci up until the 23rd and when it was time for the 24th, he suddenly lowered his violin and instead of continuing with his last piece, the Maestro began pacing the room, looking every guest in the face for a second or two each. When he reached me, he halted and, to my shock and exhilaration, smiled at me.

"You are a violinist," he spoke to me in heavily accented French. "What is your favorite string?"

The question caught me so completely off guard I lost my voice for a moment and only barely managed to stutter "D" as my answer.

"Bravo!" Paganini exclaimed, throwing his arms wide open in a typical gesture of showmanship, and after bowing and smiling my way once more, returned to his place in the center of the room where he began, to everyone's mortification, to pull all of the strings off his violin's neck except for, you guessed it, the D string.

And then the man made what should have been an impossible feat possible before our very eyes. On that one string he played his 24th Caprice, the most complex and difficult piece ever written, and by God he played it seamlessly!

All those in salon were left mute. No one could believe such a thing could be and when he finished, everyone was too stunned to even applaud; only after he made a joke and a bow did the spectators finally come to and started showering him with cheers.

I for one was still absolutely agog. At that moment the thought that ran through my mind was that there truly were people in this world that could never be bested, something which until then I had found fundamentally impossible, as the belief that with enough drive and ambition anything could be achieved and anyone could be surpassed, as the belief that humans are all equal beings under God was a guiding force in my grown-up years. But on that day, in that place, I had been proven wrong. There are people in this world who were born to be above the others and there is nothing we can do to change that.

I had been lost in my own world until I was shaken out of it by the Maestro himself who had once again walked up to me with that superior but not at all arrogant smile on his face. It was not arrogant for he did not think of himself as being above the rest, he simply knew it as a truth that could not be disproven or disagreed with.

Politely, Paganini thanked me for choosing an adequate string and as I had been just about to start voicing my admiration for his talent, he stopped me silent with a simple wave of his enormous hand.

"Please," he said to me, "I have heard every compliment in every language you could think of, they are no longer needed, though they are appreciated all the same. And the answer to one of your questions, which is what my secret is, for I can tell it is on your mind, is: work."

"I know, boring answer," he laughed before turning considerably more serious, "but trust me, no amount of natural talent could beat a Spartan schedule which includes ten hour sessions of constant practice. This is my secret, Monsieur, and nothing more."

Then, he took the folder that contained the sheet music to all of his 24 Capricci and placed it in my hand.

"Maestro, I couldn't possibly – " I began, my hands shaking around the papers as I tried returning them to their rightful owner, but Paganini merely laughed and brushed my worries to the side.

"Please, take them. I have many other copies at hand. Consider this as thanks for assisting me tonight and as a gift from one violinist to another." Then, he bowed gracefully and still smiling, turned on his heel and submerged himself in the sea of people who awaited the pleasure of his company.

And I was left there, completely stunned and once again proven wrong by this hardworking genius.

-e-e-e-e-

Enjolras took a deep breath. "And that was it."

To his surprise, Éponine was smiling up at him from the floor in amusement and wonder.

"Is there something you find amusing in my story?" he asked, confused.

Shaking her head but keeping her smile, the gamine answered. "You seemed so excited and proud as you spoke. You almost seemed like a boy speaking of his childhood hero. No," she quickly added and laughed when she undoubtedly noticed the shade of red that colored his cheeks. "I liked it."

They caught each other's eye and kept their gazes locked. Oddly, the embarrassment was no more, but in its place something else arose, putting Enjolras' heart at ease. It was as if the anger he had felt towards her before had never existed.

"When was the last time you played?" Éponine asked.

"I don't know, a few months ago."

"Well, that's not good is it? I'm sure the Maestro would not be happy about that. You should practice whenever you have the time." She smirked. "Like now, for instance."

Ever the crafty one, this girl was. Still, he thought about it. Enjolras thought about it for a little while, and all things considered, he could find no grave reason why he could not satisfy this small whimsy of hers.

"Fine." He acquiesced and rose to his feet, ignoring her pleased smile as he crossed the room, entered his bedroom and returning after several moments, violin case in hand.

Gingerly, he removed the instrument from its holder, a creation of the up and coming luthier Jean-Baptiste Vuillaume, which had been gifted to him by his father before his departure to Paris; it was one of the possessions that Enjolras valued most.

His fingers ran over its body, enjoying the slick feeling of the wooden frame from the lower bout all the way up to the scroll, where he began fiddling with the peg box, turning the tuning pegs with one hand while the fingers from his other lightly pinched the chords, measuring the change in sound as he did so.

As he tuned his violin, Enjolras found himself smiling at how similar this act was to caressing a woman's body, or rather Éponine's body, as it was the only one he knew. It reminded him of the night they had shared at the Musain; now that he thought of it, the way he had held her and how he had touched her was very similar to what he was doing right now. He guessed old habits did die hard.

His eyes went to the gamine, who was watching him curiously but intently, and he noticed a redder tint to her cheeks as well as that nervous tick of hers, the chewing of her bottom lip, had come out again.

After he finished tuning, which took him a while since the poor thing had not been touched in far too long, he took the folder with Paganini's 24 Capricci and opened it.

First? Fourth? Sixth? There were many options, but in the end his fingers settled on the twenty-first. It was a complicated piece, as were all of the Maestro's compositions, very technically demanding as opposed to melodically beautiful, but something made Enjolras deem it the right choice.

He did not know why he was so inclined to play this particular piece, as the 21st was one Capricce he had always struggled with, the melody of the Amoroso having to be played with the utmost expressive feeling, which was something he had never truly excelled at. His father had always said his rendition was bland and lacking in emotion. Enjolras just could not manage to force those kinds of sentiments out of himself. Nevertheless, his instinct told him this was the one to play, and play it he would.

After going through the music a few times, remembering the movements and technicalities of the piece, he laid the papers on the table so he could easily glimpse back at them should he need it. He straightened his back, easing the tension in his muscles and cracked his knuckles, loosening the ligaments in his hands.

Now he was prepared. After one more sidelong glance at Éponine, whose gaze on him was as unwavering as ever, Enjolras raised his violin into position and began.

The room became alive as the first note of the aria-like melody filled the air around him. Color once again brightened the world, the sound painting the walls in beautiful tones as his bow softly caressed the four strings and his fingers ran up and down the neck in perfect harmony. The motions were as innate as they had always been; synchronizing his two hands was like second nature and it felt like no time had passed at all since they had last acted together to create this audible art.

What came as a surprise was the ease with which the emotion and passion flourished in his playing. What had once been a dull, stiff rendition was now full of passion and life, and along with the melody, his heart beat and his blood flowed through his veins like it did in his most elated of moments.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Éponine rise to her feet and slowly draw near; he hoped she would not interrupt; Enjolras hated interruptions while he played, especially when he was reaching the second half of the piece which consisted of a series of rapid up-bow staccato that were very challenging and required utmost concentration. He used lower fingering for this, as its use enabled greater clearness and precision besides avoiding continuous shifting of the fingers which could quickly lead to exhaustion.

He turned to face the gamine. Her eyes were wide with wonder and her mouth hung open as she watched, her gaze unwavering, her legs still moving as she slowly drew ever closer. When their eyes unexpectedly met, Enjolras accidentally skipped a note and winced; the energy emanating from her was so powerful it threw him off key, but he recovered quickly enough and with a flourish of movements, played the last resounding note of the finale and raised his bow high at the finish.

He would have bowed, but Enjolras did not even have time to be pleased with his almost perfect performance. The last thing he heard was a whimper before his sight was blocked by a mass of brown hair and his mouth attacked by hungry lips that bit and chewed on his with fiery impatience.

He stood frozen as Éponine kissed him fiercely, his arms outstretched at his sides, holding his violin and bow away from their adjoined bodies. Her hands traveled from his abdomen up to his chest, crumpling and pulling at the fabric of his waistcoat so hard he feared the gamine would leave him without it. When he tried pulling away, with one hand she fisted the cloth while the other rose to his head, yanking and pulling at his hair and trapping him into her clutches.

This was not good.

This needed to stop at once.

There was an opening when she removed her mouth from his to draw air, and in that moment Enjolras quickly took the opportunity to yell "ÉPONINE STOP!"

This time it was her turn to freeze and when her hold on his body slackened, he pulled away, creating several wide steps between them.

He looked away from the hurt in her expression and hurried to return his violin and sheet music to their rightful places. Taking great care in putting his instrument away, he shut the case tightly and took it back to his bedroom where he hid it safely under his bed along with Paganini's music.

This taken care of, Enjolras took a few steadying breaths and returned to the sitting room where he found the gamine still standing in the exact same spot, staring at her wringing hands, looking as if she had just received a slap in the face.

"I should probably leave," she began, her voice small and conformed. "Thank you for –"

She never got to finish her sentence, the only sound she managed to let out being a gasp of surprise, for Enjolras' hand had grabbed her by the collar and yanked her to him, forcefully capturing her lips with his.

For a moment Éponine stood motionless, but quickly recovered. She melted sweetly into his kiss with a sigh, her hands rising to his head, burying them into his hair and pulling it down so the pressure of his mouth on hers grew stronger. Her lips parted and her tongue flew out, licking and flicking his lips, forcing them open. With a simultaneous groan they let their tongues meet on middle ground, neither surrendering their mouth to the other, and soon their chins were covered in each other's saliva from their messy and erratic kiss.

All the wanting and built-up tension between them burst out in full as they slowly suffocated each other, and even though his intake of oxygen was limited, for the first time that day, and that week, Enjolras felt he could breathe.

His arms wrapped around the girl's body and lifted her off her feet, his head rising to reach the new height of her lips. Éponine's legs desperately wrapped around his middle, both for support and pressing her center hard against his crotch to rub herself against him.

Blindly, but instinctively knowing exactly where to go, Enjolras led them to the coveted sofa where he dropped her onto the velvet seats, kneeled on the floor and spread her legs open, giving himself room to press his body hard against hers and continue their kiss.

"The sofa…" Éponine mumbled with the half of her mouth that wasn't being ravished by his and made an attempt to push him away so she could rise, but Enjolras kept her firmly in place.

"To hell with the sofa!" he growled, removed his lips from hers and yanked the shirt off her body in one long motion, leaving her shivering and nude before him. It was then that he realized with a shiver of his own that she had not been wearing anything underneath all this time.

There was no such thing as stopping now. The moment he had touched her his defenses had fallen and only his deepest sense of preservation had given him sufficient control to take his violin and music to safety before letting his desire erupt to the surface. And now, as his hands and lips trailed lines over Éponine's body and her moans echoed in his ears, Enjolras became even more lost than he had been in his music; he was now an unstoppable beast of a man that only she could tame.

He nipped at her collarbone, catching flesh between his teeth then releasing and soothing the tender spot with his tongue while his hands explored her frame. He caressed the soft skin of her belly and the harsh lines of her ribs before resting on her breasts, where he caught them in his palms and feverishly began kneading them.

In response, Éponine swayed and pressed the center of her legs in desperation against his middle, where he noticed an increasing wet stain being left on his waistcoat. She moaned loudly when he began twisting and rolling her small nipples between his forefinger and thumb and he felt the sliding of her hips wet him even more.

Knowing she was already so damp made him smirk and immediately kiss her hard in his own show of appreciation, invading her mouth with his tongue and pressing himself harder against her, wanting to feel her arousal seep through the fabric of his clothes and onto his skin.

There was nothing more exhilarating than knowing he made her feel like this, knowing that every drop that came out of her was from _his_ doing. Not Pontmercy's. Not anyone else's. Her juices flowed for him and only him, and this was a pride he would hold onto for as long as _this_ lasted.

He roughly removed his lips from hers and when she leaned forward to lengthen their kiss pushed her back firmly. Only in this instant of clarity did he realize his knees had begun hurting, so he hastily grabbed two of the red cushions and threw them under his shins.

Ignoring Éponine's whimpers and protesting huffs, he pulled himself from between her legs, swiftly undid his waistcoat, and threw it ungraciously on the floor.

She complained about the lack physical contact for only a second, for Enjolras remedied the situation by attacking her breast with his mouth, sucking and nibbling on her taut nipple until her moans grew to his preferred level of intensity.

With one hand he bestowed furious caresses up and down her sides, from her thighs to her ribs, squeezing and digging into her flesh wherever there was enough of it, while his other found her free breast and captured its peak between forefinger and thumb once again. His tongue circled and pressed the one nipple, while his fingers rolled and pinched the other. He almost had to hold her steady when his motions synchronized, her body always jerking or trembling when the sensations became too intense; her moans though, he felt no inclination to have them be subdued.

When Éponine raised her pelvis and rubbed it along his front, leaving a streak of moisture down his shirt and whimpering like a kit, he gathered there was a far needier place that deserved his attention. He sucked on her breast one more time before loudly removing his mouth and beginning his descent. His lips and tongue ran along the central path of skin of her front, down her ribs, to her stomach and pelvis, and finally at the apex of her thighs which he easily forced apart with his elbows. Enjolras took a deep breath of her arousal and let it out together with a deep, dark growl.

His mouth watered for a taste of her. Lifting one of her legs up by the back of the knee, he exposed her completely to his eyes and bit his lips ravenously like a starving beast as he took in the view. He closed his eyes as he leaned forward, blissfully intoxicated by her womanly scent and took one swift drag with his tongue between her folds.

It made the gamine hiss, arch her back and thrust her hips farther into his face, asking for more. His name was already on her lips and with each flick of his tongue her whispers steadily grew in intensity until they became melodic moans that went higher when he licked and lower when he nibbled.

She cried out as violently as he ate. His whole mouth covered her slit, his lips puckering and kissing the soft flesh of her folds while his tongue drew lazy circles around her swollen clit; it was not much different from kissing on the mouth, except for the shocks it sent through Éponine's body and the more intense effect it had on his own arousal.

Gone were the thoughts of revolution, of work, of Pontmercy, of ending liaisons with this girl; all that Enjolras' senses were aware of was the sound of her moans, the savory taste in his mouth and the unbearable tightness in his trousers.

It was almost humorous how in times of lucidity he could think of never having Éponine anymore. It was laughable. Why would he ever want to stop touching her like this? The divine feeling of her body, moist in all its entirety from the heat of arousal, responding in pendulous motions to his caresses, and humming hymns of pleasure in his ears were treasures he could not conceive giving up.

In the back of his mind Enjolras knew these thoughts came from lack of reason, for as much as he would deny it, at his deepest foundations he was nothing but a man, and men were weak. As Rousseau said, men in their natural state had few needs, and in moments like this, Enjolras' needs involved very little other than Éponine. These dangerous thoughts would most certainly perish once he saw clearly once more, but for now, he would let them guide him and his body to what he desired beyond rhyme or reason.

"Enjolras..." Éponine sighed and bent forward to gaze down at the motions of his mouth. She relieved him from holding her leg upwards and grabbed them herself, raising them up by the back of the knees, giving both herself and Enjolras perfect vision of his tongue darting around the throbbing mound between her legs.

Her watching him so intently as he used his mouth on her was thrilling; it felt lewd and perverted and it made the blond want to take the show to the next level.

Gently, he pressed the tip of his middle finger against her opening, grinning at the sound of her drawing in a short breath and feeling the muscles in her body tense. While his tongue lapped at her clit, he slowly inserted his finger and began pumping into her at a steady pace.

She gasped and her mouth opened wide in awe. Her head fell back and she gazed up at the heavens, hissing and crying out as he ravaged her slit with his mouth and hand.

Growling with each thrust of his hand and drop he drank, Enjolras increased the pace of his strokes to piston-like speed, and when he stretched her enough that the one finger was sliding in too smoothly, he added a second and kept going.

"OH!" Éponine cried, scrunching her face in a look of agony, bending forward and clasping a fist of his hair. "Oh God... Enjolras... S-stop!"

"Why?" He asked through the lapping and sucking, not for a second halting the pumping motions of his hand. Ever so slightly, he bent the tips of his fingers and pressed against her upper walls as he stroked her.

"P-please!" She begged. "It's too much. I can't take it!" Her voice and body quivered as she spoke, but Enjolras could tell what she felt was nothing short of ecstatic. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to.

He responded with nothing but a groan and continued pleasuring her with everything he had. His free hand slithered up her body, until it found one of her breasts and pinched her nipple.

"Enjolras stop!"

She was close, her body was telling him so, and he would not stop until he was sure of her climax. He pounded his hand into her opening with rapid, gunfire speed and his mouth opened wide, covering her vagina completely while he sucked, hiding his tongue that furiously flicked, circled and pressed on her clit.

Her body swayed violently back and forth, and the grip in his hair tightened painfully. The muscles of her core flexed around his fingers, and with several more thrusts, Éponine exploded.

She screamed louder than she ever had and Enjolras started, both at the loudness of her voice and at the jet of hot liquid that sprayed from her slit, hitting his hands and chin in small spurts, drenching his face as well as the sleeve of his shirt.

He looked at her in wonder. Her body convulsed as if struck by lightning and her screams persisted until she was left hoarse and out of breath. Only after multiple seconds, more than usual, did her body relax and she fell sideways, face forward onto the sofa, breathing heavily with exhaustion.

Wiping the sticky liquid from his chin with the back of his clean sleeve and his hands on the front of his shirt, Enjolras looked curiously at Éponine who had since not moved a muscle, kept her face decidedly hidden behind her own arms, and a deep layer of scarlet blooming from what little he could see of her face all the way to her heaving shoulders.

"'Ponine, are you well?" He asked and gently touched her bare waist with the tip of his fingers.

Like a small cornered animal she flinched at the contact and retreated even more into herself. "Did I -" she said, but the rest of her words were so softly spoken that even with bending his head forward and straining his ears he couldn't catch what they were.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Did I... Did I just wet myself?" With one eye, she peeked from behind the cover of her elbows, and he noticed the deepest glint of embarrassment he had ever seen in them.

It made him laugh.

"No, 'Ponine, you did not." He chuckled and lowered his gaze to the puddle of clear liquid that shined between her thighs and exhaled deeply, the sight triggering tremulous throbs between his own. "I think," he added in a low voice and bent his head so that it hovered barely centimeters above hers, "perhaps it was just more enjoyable than usual?"

"I… have never felt anything like it before," she shyly admitted, raised her own head to meet his halfway. Her lips, delicately and lacking their usual vigor but not at all less stirring, brushed against his. "It was amazing. I think I may have seen a glimpse of God." She giggled and once more kissed his grinning mouth.

"You're welcome."

Now she laughed and weakly swatted his arm before cupping his face in her hands, continuing the series of lovely kisses she pressed onto his lips.

"Éponine..." The blond sighed and raised his hands, burying them into her tresses and breaching her mouth with the tip of his tongue in search of the velvet touch of hers. When air became scarce and tolerating the steely hardness in his pants was no longer an option, he gazed into her brown eyes with plea shining in his own. "Are you able to-" he asked and his gaze involuntarily lowered to the very, very visible bulge in his trousers.

She answered his unfinished question by letting her hand drop to his straining erection and clasping it through the accursed barrier of his clothes. His back straightened and his head lowered to stare as she massaged his crotch area, his eyes and mind trying to keep up with the myriad of sensations that coursed through him.

Ably, the gamine unfastened his pants and lowered them to his thighs, freeing his hardness which stood strong, eager and ready for her attentive caresses. She gently clasped the moist tip of his penis and began kneading and stroking the sensitive flesh in the palm of her small hand.

A relieved groan fled from his throat. Eyes closing, Enjolras threw his head back and let his hips move by themselves, thrusting his manhood further into her hand in dire need of friction.

"Éponine... May I? Please?" He was practically begging. There was no further possibility of him waiting any longer. If he should not have her now, then he would surely die.

Without words, the gamine answered his question by pulling him by the cock and positioning it at her entrance. With slow motions, she pushed his tip inside and then let him move the rest of the way.

Still overly sensitive and raw, Éponine cried out and shuddered when he breached her center; her hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and she leaned forward to bury her head in the crook of his neck, letting out pained groans for every millimeter he moved inside of her.

His hands tried steadying her trembling body, but even he was finding it hard to keep himself upright. Millions of feelings aside, his current position, with his knees resting on the floor and still aching even with the cushions pillowing his shins was uncomfortably limiting as he could not reach the depth he desired inside of Éponine, who sat with her behind on the edge of the sofa, legs wide open and dangling down, and who was still so drenched he could barely feel the friction of her inner walls rubbing against his shaft.

In a desperate attempt to heighten the pleasure, Enjolras bent his waist forward and captured her breast in his mouth. Between the licking, sucking, and her moans, he still managed to growl out, "'Ponine... turn around for me... Please."

Of course, he did not enjoy the tone of his own words, which sounded more like pleas than requests, but as the ache in his manhood grew stronger with each slide and the possibility of release much lower in their current stance, he did not really care for pride anymore. He was ready to beg if only it would grant him salvation from these impossible feelings.

Unable to speak from the pleasured cries she was emitting, Éponine merely nodded and began twisting her body, forcing him to pull his length out and follow her up.

Their skins were damp with sweat and the lack of contact with the other's made them shiver from head to foot, both from the chill and dependency of each other's warmth. Like alcoholics without their drink, they trembled from uncontrollable need; it felt as though their bodies could not keep up with their desires.

It felt like much too long before Éponine positioned herself on all fours. Her hands held on tightly to the armrest, with one knee on the seat while the other leg rested on the floor. Enjolras quickly followed suit standing in much the same position, except his hands firmly clasped around her middle, holding her steady while he drove into her from behind in one fast, impatient motion.

Without allowing a moment's respite, he began thrusting into her with animalistic force. The time for soft play and gentle touches had gone with the explosion of her first orgasm; now it was all about the passion, the roaring fires that burned in their cores and the insanity that came with them.

Ecstasy wrung screams of agony from them both as his cock rammed into her. He watched the line of Éponine's spine as it bent and straightened with each new sensation he enforced on her; it gave him an overwhelming desire to run his tongue over it.

His length still fully inside of her, he bent forward and pressed his lips on the bottom of her neck. He suckled on her skin as his hips drove shallow thrusts into her, her whole body quivering uncontrollably as small yelps shot out of the gamine's throat with each kiss or thrust.

"God, Éponine," he whispered weakly in her ear as he stretched his neck and began nibbling on her earlobe. Enjolras had rarely felt so overpowered, so devoid of self-control and so desperate to feel her warmth surround his entire body. His hands had since slithered around her frame and had cupped her breasts to knead them like soft dough, holding her close as if in a contorted, backwards kind of hug.

Whimpering, Éponine tried desperately to turn her head to capture his lips, but the position kept their mouths out of reach. So she resorted to just stretching her head as much she could and stared at Enjolras' face that was so frustratingly close, yet much too far away.

They both admired their faces as their heads swayed back and forth along with his hips, deformed by pleasure but beautiful all the same.

He may not have had much mobility and his cock was not sliding its full length in and out of her, but his reach was deep and it felt as though his tip was could touch the very end of her core. Enjolras was almost afraid to push himself in deeper, but when Éponine reached to grab him by the hips and called out: "More!" with a quivering voice as her walls began constricting around his shaft, he understood.

Bucking his hips, he drove into her with all he had, his hands continuing to squeeze her breasts and his teeth scraping her shoulders while he thrust.

One of her hands squeezed his behind and desperately tried to force him in deeper still, while the other was used as a weak means of support on the sofa's armrest, which now bore multiple torn seams from the scratching of her nails.

Enjolras could feel her climax approaching fast, so he tried lowering his hips and thrusting upwards to touch her from a new angle and let her better feel the ridges of his shaft.

With every push, she screamed louder, and the moment Éponine began jerking underneath him, he pinched her nipple between his fingers and began trailing wet kisses down her bony spine. He kept thrusting continuously while she came, not skipping a beat, and when that last, long, powerful moan tore her throat apart with the finality of her peak, he paused.

It was only for a second though, just enough for him to straighten his back, grab her by the hips and resume pounding into her with stronger force and stronger speed.

Enjolras pummeled into her as fast as his body allowed, making use of every last ounce of energy he had in him and ignoring the ache in his muscles from the continuous strain they had been subjected to.

He growled and groaned as his hips slapped against her behind, the sounds of their joining violent and wet, just as the sensations he felt deep in his core.

"God!" He prayed and chanted with each thrust. And when his cock finally began twitching inside of her, he turned his short, frenzied thrusts into long, slow, powerful ones, letting the intensity of his orgasm flow through his body in fluid, incredible feelings.

His head flew backwards as his ejaculate spurted inside of Éponine in several short bursts. Enjolras could feel the warm liquid around his shaft as it filled her up completely and could not keep his jaw from falling at the sheer awe inspiring sensation of it all.

After breathing himself to reality and removing his spent sex from hers, he let Éponine fall back on the couch to rest and catch her own breath. They were both exhausted and covered in a glimmering layer of sweat from head to toe.

Looking down on himself, Enjolras was not only covered in his own body's perspiration, but in the sleek remnants of her juices on his hands and shirt, as well as the mixture of sex that stuck to his still exposed manhood.

Without another word or another glance in her direction, he rose to his feet and walked – unsteadily at first, but he quickly found his footing – towards the washroom.

After shutting the door behind him, Enjolras leaned back on the doorframe, ran his hands over his face and sighed deeply. There he went and did it again.

As his mind steadily cleared, the trancelike state was soon replaced by anger and disappointment in himself. ' _You weak fool,_ ' the blond berated his own person, and he would have beaten himself up more had he actually felt any sort of remorse for what had happened.

He frowned at the missing feeling. Where was his aversion and common sense and why were they not returning to him? Why was it that his head was still too full of Éponine and his body was still overly aware of her remnants all over it?

Forcing himself to ignore Éponine's clothes that were piled in a corner of the room, Enjolras pulled his dirtied shirt up over his head and quickly began wiping the sweat off his chest. Afterwards, he pulled his trousers down to his ankles and cleaned his crotch of the residues of sex that stuck to it. After finishing and splashing some cold water on his face, Enjolras, still shirtless, turned to return to the sitting room. He only hesitated for a moment, the thought of her seeing him without anything to cover his chest made him a little uncomfortable, but given all she had seen of him until now it was a pointless concern.

He had half expected Éponine to have left while he had been in a different room, even though her lack of clothing would have made this not quite feasible (even though she was exceptionally talented at finding solutions for the most difficult of problems), but Enjolras had definitely not expected to find her completely passed out on the sofa, in the same sprawled position he had left her in, with her back rising and descending with every deep, slumbering breath she took.

Blinking rapidly, Enjolras shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to another as he wondered what to do. At least several minutes must have passed before he decided to let the gamine be. After spending all of that time staring at her calm face and relaxed body, the blond really could not find it in himself to interrupt her slumber.

As silently as possible, Enjolras went to his bedroom and quickly changed clothes. Before returning, he took the cover from his bed and brought it with him back to the sitting room where he covered the still naked and wet girl with it.

Seeing as it was still early, he tried to get a few more hours of work done before he would retreat to bed as well. Even though he had tired himself out considerably and the rain outside fell no less heavy than before, Enjolras found it remarkably easy to focus on his tasks. The sound of Éponine's light snores inspired an odd sense of tranquility and calm in his otherwise thundering mind and it was with this calmness that the young student efficiently finished his work for the day with less wariness than usual. It was a curious thing, but he tried not to pay it much mind.

When his own eyelids began falling heavy on his eyes, he closed the remaining books that still lay sprawled over his desk and put his quill away.

Three hours had passed and the gamine had barely stirred throughout the duration. As he stretched, ready to go get some rest of his own, Enjolras found himself incapable of averting his eyes from her sleeping form. There was a very pretty serenity that glowed on her face as she slept.

But allure aside, he still could not shake the feeling that there was something amiss with the gamine that went beyond her problems with Pontmercy. The thought that Éponine may truly have been sick pricked the back of his mind painfully, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge this possibility, for the very idea that there could be some physical illness plaguing this girl was a surprisingly depressing and frightening one. So with a shake of the head, he threw these thoughts away and retreated to his own room, but not before taking a moment to brush his fingers delicately over Éponine's forehead.

' _Just to make sure she does not have a fever_ ' he told himself in a very convincing inner voice.

-e-e-e-e-

Éponine was warm.

Her whole body was warmer than it had been in months and it was impossible to remember when it had felt more relaxed or rested. The velvet underneath tickled her skin and the soft, airy cover caressed her like the feathery touch of a gentle hand.

With a start, the gamine woke and nearly fell off of the surface that sustained her.

For a few moments she dazedly glanced around her surroundings, her senses trying to regroup and snap the confusion out of her head.

"Oh yes," she muttered as realization dawned and her location became clear. How long had she been here?

It must have been several hours, as the early rays of sunshine that slithered in through the window were clear sign the day had changed.

As had the weather, now that she thought of it. The storm appeared to have diminished to a weak drizzle and the wind was now blowing with relatively safer force.

Her hand began unintentionally stroking the red material underneath until she realized what she was doing and stopped abruptly. Memories of the day before flooded her mind; her arrival, his shirt, Rousseau, Paganini, violins, his mouth, the sofa... _'Oh God, the sofa!'_ Éponine internally groaned and quickly rose to her feet so she could assess the damage, pulling the cover up and around her still naked frame.

There were multiple white stains covering the seats and a couple of cushions, some from her, some from him; most of them were small and not particularly noticeable, except for the very large one in the very center from when Enjolras had taken her over the edge in the most intense way he ever had. A shiver ran down her spine at the heavenly memory.

Éponine could not remember what had been in her head when she had thrown herself at him like that, all she knew was that a large part of the fault was held by that damn violin of his and the music he had produced through it; she could still hear the beautiful notes in her ears and her body almost started swaying to the imaginary sounds. So entrancing it had been that she was still entranced even now.

But no, she could not let herself be rattled and dazzled like those weak-willed Mademoiselles that swooned and fell at the blond's feet from nothing, even though what he had done, all he had done, had been everything but nothing.

With a shake of the head, she stubbornly pushed the thoughts of yesterday away and set off to the washroom, fully intent on grabbing her clothing and making her way back home.

The thought of ' _back home_ ' made her falter in her step. ' _Back home_ ' meant back to the cold, back to the dirty floor of the Gorbeau House, back to her parents and back to staring at Marius' front door like the pathetic creature she was.

Now Éponine was no longer quite so hell bent on leaving the revolutionary's flat, for as much as she wished to deny it, the gamine still had to admit there was a certain tranquility and safety in Enjolras' home that put her at ease and made her forget of the deep darkness that awaited on her side of life.

In the washroom, Éponine eyed the discarded rags on the floor that served as her clothing. Instead of picking them up, she snatched a piece of cloth from the wash basin, dumped it in water and returned to the sitting room where she furiously began trying to wipe away the stains from the sofa's seats.

As she swabbed, the gamine kept remembering various events from the day before, and as she remembered every discussion and every kiss, she couldn't help but smile.

Enjolras really had surprised her in so many ways. From selfishly offering her food and shelter when most men of his rank would not bat an eyelash at the sight of a freezing, hungry gamine (although this was not much of a revelation, considering the kind of person the blond was); to taking the time to explain his book and enthusiastically at that, where again, most people would consider it a wasted effort; to speaking of his family, something she doubted he did too often; to practicing his hobby in front of her even though his aversion had been clear from the beginning… His behavior and kindness confused and distraught her.

Her eyes glanced at the closed door of his bedroom and like some inexplicable, magical pull had caught her, Éponine rose to her feet, discarding the rag that had done all it could on the now slightly less noticeable semen stains, and trotted over to where Enjolras slept.

Slowly and silently she entered his room, her breath hitching the moment her eyes caught sight of him.

He lay on his bed sound asleep with his limbs sprawled out as was his habit and nothing to cover his still form.

Her hand clenched on the soft sheet that wrapped around her naked body as a shiver ran through her spine.

As the first sun rays burst through the window and shined on his slumbering face, Éponine was reminded just how impossibly beautiful this man was. He was nothing short of angelic, the sunlight that bathed his face giving the impression that he was radiating this light himself. It reminded her not for the first time of the aberrancy of their relationship and the illogical fact that a man like him could find himself attracted to a skin and bones, thieving, immoral waif who had caused him more pain than gain. The only satisfying explanation the gamine could find was that he was just as mad as she, which in hindsight made her appreciate the blond even more.

Slowly, she approached the beautiful sleeping madman and sat herself on the floor at his bedside, face level with him. Her intention had been to gently wake Enjolras by stirring him with gentle touches, but as if owning some otherworldly sense, the moment Éponine was close enough to smell his scent, the blond's body jerked and his lashes parted to reveal the sleepy blue of his eyes.

For a few seconds, he blindly looked around in his barely wakened state, but when his vision focused and he caught sight of her, Enjolras surprised her by smiling in such a warm, welcoming way that it made her lungs swell and forget to release the air out of them.

"Good morning," he said, his voice rough from sleep, masculine and attractive.

She nodded and smiled back.

"How are you feeling? Did you rest well?" Without waiting for a reply, he yawned and began stretching his body like a cat, making similar sounds as he did so. When he finished, he turned back and stared at her expectantly.

This gentle way of looking at her weighed more than any of his furious or lusting gazes combined and she found it difficult to keep her composure, let alone return it.

"I have slept well," Éponine muttered, keeping her head lowered and her hands busy with plucking at the bed sheets. "Thank you for letting me stay."

She did not raise her head for fear of being burnt, as the gamine could feel the warmth of his gaze on her and knew nothing good could come of meeting it.

"I do not require any thanks. It was... my pleasure."

"It didn't seem to be at first."

"Can you blame me?"

She caught Enjolras giving her a pointed look and she shook her head in agreement.

"Still..." Éponine added and, controlled by some strange impulse, bent forward and softly pressed her lips to his.

It felt as if a stool of birds fluttered about inside her stomach as they kissed. His lips were ever as soft and his breath felt warm as he sighed into her mouth.

Not letting it linger for too long, the gamine slowly broke their kiss and after one more mutual smile rose to her feet and returned to the sitting room, where she retrieved her clothes and unenthusiastically dressed herself.

Not long after she was joined by Enjolras who had since then cleaned himself up and changed into his outwear as well.

"If you intend to leave, do so at least fifteen minutes after I have gone. It would not do for any of your acquaintances to catch you in my presence," Éponine advised, well used to hiding her involvement with other parties and vice versa.

Enjolras shrugged. "I don't much care, but if you think it is wise." Nonchalantly, he threw himself on his desk chair and crossed his arms and legs in mock expectancy.

This odd attempt at humor was more endearing than amusing, yet it made her laugh all the same.

"Well then, I will not let Monsieur wait," Éponine giggled and before she knew what she was doing bent forward and kissed his lips again.

They stared wide-eyed at each other until the corners of Enjolras' mouth rose, and with an uncharacteristically good-natured nod of the head he told her, "goodbye Éponine."

Her queue given, Éponine nodded back in turn and with a slight weight in her heart, turned around and left the warm flat.

And as she walked down the Latin Quartier, dreading her return to the Gorbeau House and the cold, there was one more dreaded thought that reared itself in her mind - what was she going to say to Marius?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh...My...GOD! I DID IT!
> 
> I finally have this chapter done! I seriously cannot fucking believe it!
> 
> I'm so sorry it's taken so so SO long to get this chapter out. I've been dealing with depression for the last few years, and it's taken all the joy out of writing or just being in fandoms in general.
> 
> Luckily, I've been feeling better lately, so I managed to finish this sucker and get it online.
> 
> I still promise to finish this fic if it's the last thing I do, I just hope it won't take me as much to post another chapter.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please enjoy.

_ May 31st 1832 _

In medicine, it was always of grave importance that those who followed its path understood and accepted the inevitable cruelty of death. 

As a medical student, Combeferre never had an issue with the physical aspect of the trade; he would never bat an eyelash before blood, bodily fluids, exposed innards or broken bones. What distraught him was having to stand by, hands bound by the unbeatable shackles of human fragility and watch as another life became unsalvageable. He hated few things, but it was the feeling of helplessness in front of a dying man that ranked highest on that very short list.

Combeferre glanced over at Enjolras, whose pale face gazed into nothing, too furious and, he guessed, too afraid to speak or even raise himself from the chair he was occupying. 

The man the blond was sat next to showed similar emotions, though his thick dark beard provided a good enough mask that only the trained eye could catch the underlying grief. What gave Louis Auguste Blanqui, a 28 year-old passionate political activist and fellow leader of Les Amis du Peuple away was the nervous habit of rubbing his dark brown eyes, as if he believed the action could erase the weariness and terrible sights away. Since arriving at l’Hôpital Cochin, the man's eyes had become swollen and a bloody shade of pink from the constant rubbing.

"And NO ONE knows WHY he did such a foolish thing?!" Blanqui asked for what must have been the seventh time that morning and his eyes briefly glanced over at the hospital bed before him, where a wounded Évariste Galois lay almost motionless, save for the agonized frown on his sweaty face and his slowly moving lips.

"All we have are a few letters from a Mlle. Stéphanie-Félicie Poterin du Motel whom Galois apparently had taken a liking to, the known fact that he received a bullet in the stomach in a duel of suspicious circumstances and a few unverified accounts of whom the other party was, none of which weighing much validity," Enjolras answered for the seventh time that day.

Blanqui sighed and rubbed his eye sockets once more. "And there really is nothing to be done?" 

"The gunshot ruptured his stomach. The ensuing peritonitis has sealed his fate, I am afraid," Combeferre explained, and after glancing at the dying young man, continued, "perhaps we should summon a priest to perform the required offices... It cannot be long now."

"I do not need your priest!" 

They all started at Galois' unexpected burst. 

"Évariste -" Blanqui began, but was immediately stopped short by his comrade's cry of pain. 

"Étienne..." Galois gasped when the bout of agony ended. "Where is Étienne?"

Enjolras' jaw visibly tightened and he raised himself from his seat to walk over to the younger man's bed. "We have sent word to him. I am sure it will not take long until he comes," he told him, surprising Combeferre with the gentleness and consideration his best friend showed the patient. A never before seen kindness and understanding painted the blond's charming features, enhancing the beauty of them in such a way that everyone's eyes were immediately drawn to him. 

It would have been a lovely sight had this behavior not shocked and confused the medical student so profoundly. Yet another change had occurred in his friend that he was not privy to. It had reached a point where Combeferre no longer knew what to think or believe anymore. Constantly was his best friend's character evolving into someone he did not know nor understand. He wished they owned the time or willingness to discuss the matter, but as things were, the opportunity would not show itself anytime soon.

"Enjolras... Please... Étienne..." Speaking required great effort from the young mathematician, yet still, the name of his leader would not leave his lips. His bloody arm shot out and grabbed Enjolras' coat, who was leaning over his bed in worry. 

"I am sure he will arrive soon," the blond tried reassuring Galois, but his words no longer held any veritas, as the anger exuding from his voice erased any hope or expectation he could have conveyed.

Tears welled up in the 21 year-old's eyes and for the first time in his life, Combeferre saw a man lose the will to live. It made his own eyes sting with sadness and pity. 

After a few more moments of pained cries, Galois, whose hands were still clutching Enjolras' jacket, pulled him down with the little remaining strength he possessed and whispered something in the blond's ear.

Those had been his last words, for not an hour later, after the bells of Notre Dame had struck ten times, Evariste Galois was dead.

Enjolras stared blankly at the lifeless body, his blue eyes following the trickle of blood that dripped from the young man's mouth. Then, after a brief shake of the head, he walked over to the far end of the room and slammed his palm against the wall so hard it made the other two men jump. 

"Enjolras, please," Blanqui started in a reproving tone, but the blond, without looking at anything besides the dirty wooden floor, immediately raised a reddened hand, demanding silence.

The young doctor glanced from one man to the other and then at Galois' corpse, wondering what words could possibly calm or soothe the heavy atmosphere. But judging by the flush of rage that colored his best friend's cheeks, he decided remaining silent would be the best course of action for now.

It had been a long time since Combeferre had seen the Chief look so enraged. He worried what repercussions this anger may have, but he knew better than to try and approach the matter, lest he wanted to be caught in the crossfire. 

As he watched Enjolras stomp towards the door, halfheartedly wiping at the bloodstain on his shirt, the Guide understood what the blond's aim was, and while he agreed but did not condone of what he was about to do, he prayed his friend would have enough sense not to endanger what they had been working on for so long. 

"Where are you going?" Blanqui sputtered indignantly as Enjolras passed by without even acknowledging the older man, something the politician did not take kindly. 

"Where I have to go," was his answer, and just before he was about to step out, Combeferre remembered something.

"Wait, what did Galois tell you?" 

This made the Chief stop in his tracks and turn his head so they could see the ice-cold rage in his eye. 

"They know."

e-e-e-e

The  Théâtre  du Vaudeville, home of the most charming  pétites pièces and most outrageous  _ comédies  _ _ en vaudeville _ was arguably the centerpiece of le rue de Chartres, yet Enjolras could not care less of its grand exterior or the lively atmosphere that encompassed it.

The attractions of the theatre were invisible to him. All his eyes perceived was the red of his fury and the defined path he was walking, or rather, stomping on. 

It was not long before he spotted the tall, lanky silhouette of Étienne Arago, director of the theatre since only 1829. The behind-the-curtain revolutionary was at the moment in cheerful conversation with a man of considerably smaller stature than himself, but much larger in girth. Arago's smile briefly faltered the moment he caught sight of Enjolras approaching at a heavy pace, but he quickly recomposed himself and spread his arms wide in fake welcome, his eyes flickering to the blood stained shirt just slightly visible under the student's buttoned up jacket.

"Enjolras! What a  _ delightful  _ surprise to see you here! I did not think vaudeville was to your fancy." Arago chuckled and then turned to his companion. "Please let me introduce my dear friend and literary colleague, Honoré de Balzac. He and I have written together a novel some while ago, of disappointing success I am afraid. Still, contrary to myself, Honoré will one day become a great - "

"We must speak." Enjolras cut the older man's speech that he had lost track of since 'delightful surprise.' "Now."

He did not care for his rudeness, nor of their setting and least of all of Arago's click of the tongue and dangerous glint in his black eyes.

"Forgive me, Honoré, this seems to weigh some importance. We will continue afterwards, it should not take long," Arago patted Balzac on the shoulder, gave him a pointed look that screamed ‘ _ you saw nothing today _ ’ and then turned to the blond. "Let us take this to my office," he suggested and motioned with his long arm to his left, encouraging Enjolras to precede him.

Inside the director’s office, Enjolras briefly observed his surroundings. It was a chamber of relatively small dimensions, with one wall covered by a massive bookcase, one fairly cluttered desk, a chair behind it and two in front for the rare visitors. He did not feel like sitting. 

Arago pointed to one of the chairs and motioned for Enjolras to sit.

He did. 

And so did Arago in his corresponding seat at the other end.  

“That was rather unmannerly of you, my friend. I should have thought a man of your upbringing would know better. And to walk around Paris in such a state.” Arago shook his head and took a deep breath. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

The man’s pretend ignorance and whimsy made Enjolras’ blood boil. Of course he knew what the problem was; the bastard knew very damn well… 

“Galois.” 

Only for a brief moment did the older man’s back straighten and his blinking rate increased.  

"He is dead," Enjolras continued in a cold voice, not hiding even the smallest sliver of anger.

"Ah." Was all Arago said.

There was a pause.

"Ah?" The blond repeated his words disbelievingly. "Ah!? Is that all you have to say?!"

"Keep your voice down." The older man snapped and glared at him. "And what would you have me say?"

This caught Enjolras off guard. "I - I don't know. Anything! He was your colleague. Your friend! Are you simply going to overlook his passing and go on with the rest of your day?!" 

How could anyone be so calm when a friend had just died? Enjolras couldn't understand. Had he been in the opposite chair, he would be bereft with grief and despair; even the thought of losing any of his friends made his stomach churn and his hands shake with fear. It was a future that very well might come, but the notion was too horrid to acknowledge.

"Evariste was..." Arago inhaled a long breath and his gaze lowered, "more than a friend." He shot Enjolras an intent look and said no more.

It took a moment for the younger man to understand, but when he did, his mouth fell open and he was forced to shake his head violently to bring himself out of his stupor. 

"I -" he tried to speak, but his words failed him. This explained why Galois was so desperate to see the revolutionary leader once more.

"You do not need to say anything," Arago interjected. "What is done is done. Evariste was a fool and too easily deceived. He should not have involved himself in Mille Motel's plight, let alone take it upon himself to resolve it." 

He chuckled. "Funny how it was the one time he showed kindness to another. And the one thing he gained in return was his demise."

Enjolras listened without a word; he was far too confused and numbed. He could find no rhyme or reason to the man's train of thought.

"He... Was your friend..." His sweaty fists shook on top of his knees and his jaw hurt from the grinding of his teeth. "He was more..."

"I have no need nor sympathy for fools like him." Arago replied calmly and rose from his seat. He took long, lean strides towards the office's only door.

"Friends and lovers are not family, they are not related by law or blood, they are not clients or partners or leaders; their worth is only measured by what they offer and give. If they provide nothing then they are useless."

The force with which Enjolras grabbed the older man by the cuffs and slammed him against the door knocked the air out of Arago's lungs.

"Then is that what  _ la Sociéte _ is to you as well?! A group of soldiers?! Peons who are meant to serve and sacrifice themselves for your whimsy and visions of the greater good?! WILL THEIR DEATHS MEAN NOTHING AT ALL?!''

His heavy breathing was the only thing that fueled his self-control enough that his fists still hadn't connected with Arago's flesh. The desire was there, and it burned hotly, but his reason watered down his fury enough that he knew he would leave the place with his hands still clean. 

In turn, Arago looked down on him calm and unimpressed, as if Enjolras was nothing but an annoying fly whose squashing would take more effort than it'd be worth. It was demeaning and infuriating.

"Stand down, Enjolras." Arago spoke slowly and calmly, but the hidden danger behind his words froze the student. Physically, the man was by no means a threat. However, if one knew Étienne Arago, then they knew that his strengths were darker and more terrible than those of the most brutal fighters. 

Unwillingly, the blond stepped back and released his senior, lowering his arms and balling his fists at his sides. Anger steamed inside of him and were he unaware of the repercussions, what Enjolras would have done would have been, by law and moral definition, unforgivable. 

After he readjusted his cravat, Arago walked up to where Enjolras stood and firmly slapped his cheek. It wasn't a staggering blow, but it was enough to twist his head sideways and cause a sting on his skin. There was not much pain, but what was predominantly felt was the shock and surprise of this normally calm man having raised his hand. He really didn't know how to respond.

Not like he would have had the opportunity, for Arago's long fingers had grasped his throat and were keeping his words tightly locked in.

"You listen to me, you ignorant tadpole," the older man spoke harshly and rapidly, spraying Enjolras' face with saliva, "these are times when emotion and attachments are the greatest mistakes someone like you or I can make. We are tools! We are a resource of France just as are her fields and factories. We exist to regain her freedom, nothing else. You might lose everything you cherish or hold dear in this war, and if you cannot will yourself to accept and willingly give them up, then you have no business being a member of  la  _ Sociéte des amis du peuple _ ." His eyes shone with anger and what Enjolras recognized as hidden hurt. He almost felt sorry for him.

Almost, for his own anger and disgust outweighed any other feelings. "Galois is dead and no amount of pseudo-righteous patriotism will make your absence from his deathbed be condoned or forgiven. If not by Galois' spirit, then most certainly not by me." His rage fueled his body and with relative ease pushed Arago away from his person. 

"I will not abandon our cause," Enjolras continued, breathing heavily and staring up at the man before him with disappointment and disgust. "I will fight for my country under your leadership, for I still admire you as a leader, but as another gentleman and human being, you have lost every ounce of my respect."

"That is all I need." Arago replied coolly and straightened to arrange his messed up cravat once more. "Please see yourself out, I trust you remember the way." And without so much as sparing the blond one half of a glance, he turned around and headed for the office exit.

"Galois said they know," the student called out, stopping Arago's long strides. 

His head turned only a fraction, but enough to contour his interest. "Who knows?"

"The National Guard. The nobility. The king." Enjolras informed grimly, his head lowered by the weight of this knowledge. "They know of us. You should thank Galois for this, at least posthumously. You raised a good soldier." His voice echoed his disgust as well as mirrored his stance on the matter.

A short break was followed by a stiff, "I see," and without so much as another syllable, the revolutionary leader leisurely walked out first, leaving the blond alone with his thundering emotions.

Enjolras' jaw was still set and his fists were balled so tightly he could feel his fingernails break the skin of his palms. Forgetting his regard for propriety, he stormed out of the office and then the theatre, incapable of registering his surroundings or his own thoughts. 

Red hot anger coursed through his veins and burned his nerve endings. Were he more reckless and had not known of a better solution, Enjolras would have gladly taken his rage out on each passerby he met as he sped down the street and towards the Gorbeau house.

e-e-e-e

The day had been boring thus far. 

Éponine sat on the floor with her legs stretched out in front of her and softly hummed to herself. She did not care how out of tune she was or how unpleasant her voice sounded; to her inner ear, it was definitely better than the depressing silence that stuck to her room like fungus. 

She had been sitting like that for most of the day. Her body had none of its usual energy; instead there was just dullness and exhaustion, and no desire for anything other than rest or perhaps food. In more despairing moments, the  _ gamine _ wondered if she had turned ill, yet the lack of any other symptom quelled those fears. 

'It must be the heat,' she mused, looking down at her drenched chemise. 

An unexpected heat wave had attacked Paris these past few days, making it seem as though the horrendous storms from barely a week ago had never been at all. 

She wondered why for only a moment, the subject becoming boring and meaningless once she realized she could find no answer for it other than God's whimsy. 

Recently, Éponine had come to find that simple answers such as 'coincidence', 'chance', 'fate' or 'God's will' no longer satisfied her curious mind. She now wondered how rain worked, how horses pulled carriages, why rainbows existed and why people like her were starving while others could not carry their own bellies around. 

Her mind sought knowledge and understanding more than it ever had. The reason for this, she guessed, may have come from her unpleasant bout with Marius and the feeling of deep humiliation of having been looked at as nothing short of a stupid, uneducated child. 

The baron had since then remorsefully apologized, saying in more words than necessary how sorry he was for what had occurred and how everything had been nothing but an unfortunate misunderstanding. 

Of course Éponine had forgiven him instantly... How could she not? Where there was love there was always forgiveness, and Marius had truly been honest in his apology. And yet, somewhere deep within her heart, the humiliation and anger lingered, making way to a very different kind of feeling for the baron she did not quite seem to understand yet. 

She wondered briefly if she should go visit him, make heads or tails of her heart, but the desire to remain peacefully on the floor surprisingly won over her desire to see Marius.

Luck had been on her side today, a rare occurrence indeed, for her father had dismissed her assistance early, claiming to not need her skills for whatever daily scheme he had concocted. Of course, Éponine would not complain. Helping the old man had stopped being a satisfying affair years ago. Now it was mostly a grueling task that either had her ending up with more scratches and bruises than her body could sustain at a time, or with memories the likes of which no girl her age deserved to be plagued by.

Even though it wasn’t in her character, Éponine did not mind feeling bored every now and then. She felt deserving of this small luxury, of a few moments of relaxation and solitude, when she allowed her imagination to soar and when no one would disturb this wonderful calm with their toxic presence. 

Yet, she had thought this too soon, for not a moment later, her ears picked up the sound of commotion somewhere outside her room. She could hear the old landlady’s croak of a voice blabbering something in response to another speaker, whose words held a heavy weight of malice that conflicted with the crystal clarity of the voice.

It was a familiar tone, but it was muffled enough that Éponine couldn’t figure out its owner, so she shrugged it off in favor of returning to her monotonous musings. At least until the heavy pounding on her door beat them away.

The fury of the knocks startled her. It was clear that whoever was on the other side of her door had a bone to pick with the Thénardiers, no doubt not a rare event in itself, but still not a pleasant thought, especially when the eldest daughter of the family found herself on her own, without much means of defense.

Slowly, she raised herself to her feet and tiptoed to the door, aiming to peek through the keyhole at the person who was so keen on entering her flat.

“Éponine, open up!”

This time the voice was undoubtedly recognized.

“What in God’s name does he want?” the  _ gamine _ huffed and hurried to let the young man in before he announced his presence to the entire tenement. That was the last thing she needed, for people to learn of her involvement with the leader of those silly boys.

Opening the door, she glared up at Enjolras, who stood in her doorway, glaring back with no less ardor. But unlike him, Éponine froze when she got a better look at him.

The blond’s skin had an alarming red hue to it and she noticed how the vein in his temple bulged out, drumming in the tempo of what was without doubt pure rage and fury. When her attention was caught by a red stain that was barely visible under his jacket, Éponine was hit by a sudden wave of worry and anxiety.

“Enjolras, are you - ?”

Before she could finish, the young man barged in the room, slammed the door behind him and latched it shut. Then, like a whirlwind, he reached out and grabbed her. His large hands clasped the  _ gamine’s _ head like in a vice and pulled her to him, crashing his lips over her own so hard their teeth connected painfully.

Éponine couldn’t even gasp, Enjolras mouth was so consuming she did not even have air to spare for shock. Only for a short second did she instinctively try to push him off, but it quickly ended when his tongue slithered in between her teeth and began furiously flicking her own. For the same reason as before, Éponine did not have enough oxygen to sigh.  

Pushing her surprise and concern aside, at least for the moment, the girl surrendered to his smothering embrace, reason steadily retreating to make way for a stronger emotion that began steadily burning inside her chest and between her legs. It was astonishing how just his kisses could cause such a stir in her lower abdomen, an unheard-of reaction for the waif to experience with any other man, let alone someone she had no real feelings for.

With just the contact of his warm mouth, a pool of excitement formed at the juncture between her thighs, enough that it had her body on fire and her heart thundering.

Enjolras kissed her rough and hard, more so than ever before. He bit and chewed on her lips, his teeth scraping her bottom one in a wonderfully painful way that made her groan appreciatively. His hands moved around her frame much the same, pinching and stroking her skin barbarically, so unlike his usual way of touching her, but not displeasing in the least.

Her own hand slowly slid down his front, feeling the unevenness of his toned chest, which briefly reminded Éponine that she had never actually seen it for herself before, and stopped at the protruding bulge of his pants. Smirking from the feeling of his stiff cock against her palm, she began stroking it in eager anticipation.

The revolutionary growled and pushed her lips away, holding her at arm’s length. His darkened eyes roamed down her meager frame and with a savage gleam in his eyes, pulled her back onto him and dropped down on the floor, taking her along with him.

He practically slammed her on the cold ground, nestling himself between her legs while his hands furiously began pulling the barrier of her clothes away.

Éponine looked on in wonder as Enjolras unceremoniously dragged her chemise down, exposing her breasts, and roughly thrust her skirt up, bunching it at the waist. Her eyes widened and her mouth hung ajar when he literally  _ ripped  _ her undergarments off and threw them aside.

She had almost asked what in the world had happened to him, this way of acting being completely out of character for the usually stoic student, but then he slammed his mouth over her breast and her unsaid words came out as one loud moan.

His hands grasped both breasts and began molding them like clay between his long fingers. While one of her nipples was being viciously sucked on, the other fell prey to his thumb and index which pinched and rolled the small tip to a maddening effect.

Breathing heavily, the nerve endings of her breasts electrocuting her with each suckle or squeeze, Éponine felt her desire drip between her legs and onto the dirty floor beneath them. In desperate need of something to ease the ache in her sex, she bucked her hips and thrust her center flush against his, groaning as the pressure on her clit brought just enough comfort to keep her sanity intact.

Feeling her wetness against his groin, Enjolras growled again (which the  _ gamine _ found illogically erotic), and removed one hand from her breast and shoved it between her legs, cupping her sex in his palm.

Éponine cried out when he crassly began stroking her, his mouth and other hand not for a second pausing their assault of her breasts.

It was unbelievable. For a moment, the girl wondered if the person who was on top of her was the real Enjolras. His behavior was so abnormal, had she not been blinded with pleasure, she would have been wary of him. Her eyes briefly caught the crimson stain on his shirt and the wave of anxiety hit her anew.

Was he hurt? No. He wouldn’t be able to move like this if he was.

Had he hurt someone? Plausible. The student had never once put on the mask of a saint since she had known him, and Éponine knew perfectly well what he was capable of, having seen it with her own eyes months ago, but it still did not explain the anger that seeped from the young man like miasma.

Seeming to have noticed her hesitation, Enjolras shoved two fingers into her so suddenly and so forcefully it stole the breath from her lungs. He began pumping inside her slit hazardously; his long calloused fingers rubbed her insides, making her juices slosh out everywhere and causing screams to tear her throat apart.

Mind losing to her body, Éponine’s hips swayed against his hand, trying to push his fingers in further, not feeling full enough to satisfy her hunger. She needed so much more to feel sated, especially now, when he was more ardent than he had ever been and more desirable than she ever thought possible.

A protesting sound accompanied his hand leaving her core and the release of her breasts, but was soon followed by an impatient whimper when Enjolras began swiftly undoing his trousers at last. He shoved them down to his ankles, releasing his throbbing cock, and without even waiting one second, parted her legs and impaled her with one wild thrust.

Groaning with every push of his hips against hers, Éponine felt like she was being slowly crushed by the indescribable feelings he was forcing out of her. Her hands shot up, grasped his blond locks and pulled the revolutionary down into a kiss, throwing control to the side and succumbing to her own wildness.

They were both untamed and uncontrollable, their bodies screamed loud wet sounds as he pummeled furiously into her. It was the messiest,  _ crudest _ and most incredible sex they had ever had and Éponine loved every second of it.

Bearing his white teeth at her, Enjolras looked more like a wild animal than the angelically beautiful, stoic young man she was accustomed to. His face was redder than his favorite jacket and his eyes showed no sanity, just blue haze. He fucked her like he was possessed, ramming his cock into her opening with such force it was just short of being painful, but shook her blissfully from her core to the tips of her hair strands.

Neither of them had a chance of lasting for long, the friction between them too unbearable to withstand the inevitable peak that would soon tear them apart.

Enjolras, close to orgasm, clutched her by the wrists and pulled her arms over her head, pressing his weight down upon them as he lifted both their hips higher. He roared when he shoved his cock in deep, smacking his pelvis against hers with resounding force, hitting so many sensitive spots it made the  _ gamine _ shriek with each thrust.

Her eyes watered from the feelings in her core and her throat ached from the constant screams he tore from her mouth. When she felt completion approaching, her inner muscles clenched, preparing for the onslaught of turbulence that would surely rip her apart.

It did not take long before Éponine felt his cock twitching inside of her, responding to the tightening of her center. It only took a few more thrusts for Enjolras’ mouth to fall open and his eyes to go up into his head as his orgasm spilled into her.

Feeling him come inside sent the  _ gamine _ over the edge as well, her back bending and a ragged gasp leaving her lips as she felt her body shatter. There were a thousand suns in front of her eyes that surrounded two large blue ones that shined brighter than them all. In her state of bliss, she did not realize at first that they were his eyes, but as her vision steadily focused, she found Enjolras staring down at her, sweaty, red-faced and just as lost.

Exhausted, his body collapsed on top of hers and his blond head fell into the crook of her neck, where she felt his heavy breathing in her ear. With no little amount of surprise, Éponine noticed his hands leaving her wrists and coming close to her body. For a moment, it looked like he was going to embrace her, but as if he had changed his mind at the last second, he left his arms parallel to their bodies and clenched his fists.

What was wrong with him? Éponine couldn’t help wondering just what had happened to the student that would leave him in such a despairing state. More than that, she wondered if she truly wanted to know.

She heard his breathing steadying and slowly, very slowly, Enjolras raised himself, avoiding her eyes, and hissing as his sex slipped out of her own. He stared at his shining cock and frowned.

Éponine followed his movements curiously. It was like watching a child awkwardly trying to make sense of something he had never before witnessed, except his eyes didn’t show wonder but grim confusion. Whatever was going on in that pretty head of his, it made her feel sorry for him.

He suddenly winced when he tried getting to his feet and their eyes fell in tandem to his knees, where trickles of blood fell from newly formed scratches on his skin.

Éponine just couldn’t believe her eyes. Just how unfocused had he been that he had not realized his knees were scraping painfully on the floor as he fucked her?

“Enjolras what happened?” Laying her concern on the table, she glanced up at the blond while he fastened his pants and stubbornly ignored the injuries on his legs.

“Never you mind,” he snapped back. Like him avoiding her eyes had not been enough, Enjolras turned around and showed her his hunched back as he finished dressing.

‘ _ To hell with that! _ ’ The  _ gamine _ thought and raised herself up, adjusting her clothes to decency as she stepped forward to give her sudden visitor a piece of her mind. Grabbing him by the shoulder, she spun him around ready to raise up a storm, but the moment those tired blue eyes came in contact with hers, the girl faltered. She knew something bad had happened, but the young man’s eyes told the tale of just how much of an effect it had had on him. There was a slight prick she felt right then in her heart, an uncomfortable sensation which could have come from either pity or concern, both emotions she did not usually feel, especially for someone like him.

Without truly understanding why, Éponine closed in on the revolutionary and gently cupped his cheek in her palm. 

He twitched and looked down at her with a wary glance when her touch came in contact with his skin. Nevertheless, he did not pull away.

They stared at each other for a while, she concerned but understanding, he confused but grateful. Strangely, they knew what the other meant to convey without any words spoken. 

Éponine would not ask if he did not want to be asked and Enjolras appreciated this small kindness greatly. 

She could not bring herself to press the subject further; the  _ gamine _ knew well enough what it was like for some things to weigh too heavy to be shared with others. That kind of self-preservation was difficult to live with, but if she could do anything to support him, it was to let the matter go.

"Thank you," Enjolras muttered in a voice so low she had to strain to listen, "and I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Éponine tilted her head in confusion and removed her hand from his cheek, lowering it to her side where the lack of warmth on her palm made her form it into a fist.

"For..." he blushed and gestured awkwardly at her body, "you know."

“Oh!” Éponine laughed. “Well, don’t worry about that.” She bit her lip. “I think you made up for your impromptu visit in full,” she stared up at him through her eyelashes and smirked at the fidgeting it induced in the young man. 

Still, there  _ was _ one small problem they needed to work out.

Not really finding any other solution, nor having the time to think of one, Éponine lifted her hand and looked up at him expectantly. “Now pay up.”

Enjolras blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said pay up." 

The blond's gaze moved from her hand to her totally serious expression several times before speaking. "I'm sorry, but I don't follow."

_ 'Of course he wouldn't.' _ Éponine rolled her eyes. "Listen, you came barging into my home in the middle of the afternoon, locked us in and made me scream so loud the entire boulevard probably heard me climax."

She ignored his blush.

"Now, you'll bet my father will get wind of this, and when he does I'm going to have to find a decent enough excuse as to why a bourgeois student like you would ever come see a person like me."

It looked like Enjolras was about to say something, but he thought better of it and began searching in the pockets of his jacket. He took one franc and put it in the  _ gamine's _ hand.

"I'm not aware of the rates for things like this, but I assume this should...cover the expenses?"

Her eyes widened as she weighed the coin's value in her hand. "This is too much! No one would pay this much for a fuck! Please give me something smaller!" 

"But I don't have anything smaller." He replied with a shrug as if it were nothing out of the ordinary - rich stinking son of a bourgeois. 

"Besides," he continued, "I should think one Franc is not a considerable amount seeing how I've troubled you today." His gaze darkened and he heaved a heavy sigh, the troubles that were plaguing him seeming to return. "I... did not mean to, but I just... I needed..." He broke off and looked at her. She was startled to see the loneliness and despair that faced her, emotions so foreign to his features, yet there they were, directed at her, showing no opening for comfort or advisal.

While Éponine was still scouring her mind for a word or two, there came a sound from the hallway, and less than a minute later, the pair was abruptly startled by the front door forcefully opening with a bang.

She couldn't immediately see who it was, for Enjolras had instinctively jumped between her and the door, but the moment the newcomer opened his mouth to emit a slur of vulgarities, her blood froze in recognition.

"Papa?"

In her fear, she only just managed to catch the blond's twitch and sudden rigidity, nothing surprising given who they were now facing. ' _ Now, how should I get out of this one?' _ she grimly thought.

"What in the hell are yer doin', girl?" Thenardier croaked, his breath stinking of rum and something stale, as he glowered at the pair. Only when his eyes settled on Enjolras did his glare turned into a pensive frown.

The old man's bloodshot eyes went from Éponine to Enjolras in quick succession, glancing at their red faces, glistening skin, and disheveled clothing. His eyes widened for a second before settling down with a glint she knew too well. 

Turning to the student, he flashed him a toothless grin and, as if glazing his voice with honey, before his daughter’s very eyes, the petty con artist turned back into the snake tongued innkeeper from the past. "Welcome monsieur," he said and made an over the top bow to Enjolras, "and thank you for taking an interest in my eldest daughter." He winked in her direction, which did nothing but make Éponine sick with dread. 

"I must confess you have caught me off guard. I didn't know she had taken up the trade again," Thenardier continued, his words knives in the girl's stomach, "but with a customer like you, monsieur, of course she could not refuse." 

"Papa," she tried to make him stop, but it was her who was halted by her father's threatening glare, which Enjolras did not miss. 

The student did nothing, however and simply watched silently as Thenardier moved past him and held his palm open in front of his girl, in a similar way as she had done to Enjolras. He forced the Franc out of his daughter's hands and, at seeing the rich sum, the old man's smile widened, making his vile aura even more pungent. 

"Monsieur, by my word, to think that you would offer so much for this girl of mine! You are too generous!"

"I think I should leave," the student cleared his throat, and Eponine noticed the vein in his temple bulging again. 

"You're most welcome to come by again, Monsieur," the damned bastard kept blabbing, grinning like a wretched hound, "I assure you ain't gonna find nobody better than my 'Ponine." He approached Enjolras, put a grimy hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear: "I made sure she learned young," he said and winked at the young man. 

Eponine suppressed a gasp when she saw the blond's complexion go from pink to bright red faster than she could blink. She heard his breath come out harshly and rapidly through his nose and noticed his fists clench so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Good day," Enjolras choked out, and like a whirlwind, without sparing a glance in either hers or her father's directions, fled the room. She heard his feet stomp on the rickety stairs of the Gorbeau house and the entrance door open and slam shut, leaving Eponine in a fit of silent shivers.

Thenardier seemed less than oblivious to the student's departure, his attention too captured by the gold coin in his hands. "Ya did good, girl," he sneered and patted her roughly on the back, a caring gesture if she ever saw one. Too bad it made her sick to the stomach.

Before she knew what she was doing, Eponine whirled around and dashed out, following the young man's steps, almost as blindly as he had walked them. 

‘ _ What am I doing? _ ’ the gamine wondered. 

She thought about the disgust and anger he must have felt. Enjolras was no child, no matter how he behaved. It should have been no secret Eponine had been touched by other men before... 

So why had he been so furious?

Had he been disgusted by her? Was the thought of touching a former nightwalker that unpleasant?

For someone like him, pure and innocent of the worldly ways of adults, of course it would be. 

_'It would be a shame for it to end like this,'_ she thought as she raced down the stairs, ignoring her father’s calls and the people she passed by. Éponine couldn’t think of any other reason for the pursuit except for her unwillingness to part ways with the student in such a form, preferring to ignore the idea of her not wanting to part in any way at all.

Out on the streets, her eyes darted around, but could see no sign of the blond revolutionary. Following her instincts, she sprinted in the direction of Le Musain, his home away from home, hoping she would catch up before Enjolras could reach the more crowded areas of the district. It would not do to cause a scene, especially for someone as respectable as he.

It was almost unnoticeable, but good that she had trained her senses well, for she barely missed the spot of red in the back of her eye as she passed one of the adjacent alleys to the main street. 

There he was, furiously pacing the closed off alley, his hands clasped behind his back, chin down and blonde locks jumping in time with his stomps.

Relieved, the gamine turned and ran in his direction, only to stop mid step, almost tripping, as Enjolras suddenly stopped and slammed his palm on the brick wall before him.

Jaw set and chest rising with every deep, loud breath, the young man seemed as terrible as she had ever seen him, and before she could even properly observe him, he slammed his palm to the wall again.

After a minute, he did it again. And then again. And again… until she could take it no more.

The girl forced his hand to stop by grabbing it in her own shaking ones. 

“Stop it!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing, have you lost your mind?!” 

Startled, Enjolras stared at her, not quite seeming to yet grasp the situation.

“I understand you are angry and disgusted,” she blurted out, talking faster than her mind could think, “I am sorry I lied to you. Yes, I was a whore. I have been had by many men, and it is not something I take any pride in.” She swallowed, keeping her head down, unable to look him in the eye, yet still holding his hand tight in hers. 

“But I swear, I have not touched any other man since the day I first had you. I have not given myself to anyone else but you since then. I understand if you want nothing more to do with me. I am sure you must feel aghast that you have been with someone as dirty and tainted as me, and I promise I will never seek you out again, I just wish you did not leave this place holding a grudge, as I will hold none towards you. I know you probably hate me right now, and I cannot blame you, but I just -”

“What?!” Enjolras asked. 

Éponine then raised her head, and found him staring down at her, confused, still dishevelled, still red in the face, but much calmer than before. 

“I- I just…” she stuttered, not knowing what else to say. “I just did not want us to part ways like that. Even though you hate me now, and you are disgusted by me, I still wanted to at least apologise for not being completely honest with you.” 

She was never one to easily apologise, but the gamine had the capacity to understand where she had erred. It had not been a nice thing to hide this side of her past from him, for such a long time, and knowing the kind of person he was. It was her mistake, and she could only do so much to right this wrong.

“‘Ponine, I do not hate you,” he surprised her by saying, “how could you possibly think that?”

Staring at him in disbelief, the girl shook her head. “Because I hid my past as a street walker from you, I let you touch a body that was dirty, I let you kiss lips that have been kissed by other men, and have a woman that had been had by too many others before you. I am horrible, I know, but I could not help it. Being with you was so enjoyable, I could not bring myself to give you up.”

“‘Ponine!” he breathed, clasped her head in his warm hands, burying them in her hair, and forced her to look at him. “I am  **not** angry with you. Nor do I hate you. And under no circumstance am I disgusted by you.” 

It was difficult to believe, but his eyes showed he was speaking the truth.

“If anyone deserves those feelings,” he continued, speaking through gritted teeth, “is that  _ man _ you call your father. The thought of what he must have put you through...” she felt his hands tighten around her scalp, before he took in a deep breath and his hold relaxed.

“It is not your fault, Éponine.”

Those few words felt like daggers in her stomach. She felt a million pricks on her body, and she could see tiny bumps form on her skin. It was the first time someone had said those words to her, and the impact was one she could not easily explain. All the girl knew was that there was an immense feeling of relief settling in her chest, and she chose to focus on that.

“I do not blame you for not telling me,” Enjolras continued in a much softer tone, “and I understand why it is something you are uncomfortable with discussing. I am not an absurd man. I recognise when something is not my business and I accept your choice in keeping this matter to yourself. But I am also not naive,” he added, “I knew from the beginning I was not your first, and I did not care. I still do not care. The past you is something out of my grasp, but the present you is not.”

She did not understand.

“What are you saying?”

The blond took a deep breath. “What I am saying is: I may not be able to change your past, but I  _ can _ change your future.” He removed his hands from her and began searching one of the pockets of his coat. From it, he removed a key, finer that any one she had ever carried, and handed it to her.

She still did not understand.

“It is the spare key,” he explained.

“Spare key to what?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes in a way that ticked her off.

“The spare key to my flat, ‘Ponine, what else?” he said snobbishly. Were she not so shocked, she would have felt a want to slap him on that pretty face.

“Why…?”

He sighed and looked down.

“Listen, ‘Ponine, I will not lie, or pretend to be a better man than I am. Yes, I am giving you this key so you may seek sanctuary whenever you need it, but I will not deny that it is also for my own selfish whims.”

Enjolras really was not himself today, she thought.

“I don’t follow...”

“I…” he faltered.

“Yes?” she pressed. 

“I… need… you...”

The words fell from his mouth so strangely and awkwardly that it felt like he was speaking some foreign language. Frankly, it even felt foreign to her own ears.

There was no scenario she could imagine that had him saying that to her. She was more than confused, and she would be lying if she didn’t admit there was a flutter somewhere in her chest. Her cheeks felt hot, and the gamine was in such a stupor, that no reply would form on her lips.

No less red in the face was the revolutionary, his stance slightly out of the ordinary, in an almost shy kind of position. He scratched his head.

“This is a difficult time for me, ‘Ponine,’ he managed. “There are so many things…” he took a deep, ragged breath, that sounded too heavy for someone his age. 

“There are so many things I must deal with. So many things I must see to. So many things I must see… I do not wish to admit it, and I will deny till my dying breath ever having said this, but I  _ cannot  _ handle it.”

Now that was something she would remember for a long while: the great Enjolras admitting weakness.

“I want to help you, I truly do, with all my heart, but… I need your help as well.”

Another miraculous turn of events: Enjolras asking for help. This was by far the strangest day the girl had had in a  _ long  _ time. 

“What can  _ I  _ help you with? I’m just a street rat,” she replied, confused.

He shook his head. “You are not, ‘Ponine. You are  _ you _ .” And here, he truly sounded honest, and it was something she appreciated greatly.

Enjolras came closer and placed his hands on her waist, his gaze fixing on her own. “It is not easy for me to ask this of you, and I will bear you no ill will should you refuse,” he said softly, very unlike himself, “but I need you… like I needed you today.”

Eponine’s eyes widened, but she continued to listen.

“Before… being with you today,” he carried on, ”I have never felt so angry. So discouraged. So… afraid.” His mouth twitched as he said that last word. “At first, I did not quite understand why I sought you out, but after I felt the incredible relief you gave me, I realized what a massive difference it made.”

He took a deep breath. “Eponine, you are the only thing that can calm me down.”   

She blinked, and as she understood, a cheeky smile crept on her lips. “You mean to say that you want to fuck me whenever you’re stressed?”

He cringed. “Please don’t put it that way.” 

“But that’s what’ you’re asking of me. To be at your cock’s beck and call whenever it needs to take a load off.”

“‘Ponine, that’s not what it is,” he spluttered, now red in the face. “What I want is - “

“You’ll have to pay me.” Eponine said before he could finish.

It was his turn now to be confused, but the gamine wasn’t going to waste any time.

“My father will wonder where I disappear to. Being out and about is not enough reason for a wolf like him. He can smell lies from kilometers away. Now he believes I’ve taken up the trade again. If you give me enough to prove to him that I’ve been…  _ busy _ , it would make life much easier for both of us.”

The girl was smiling as she spoke, and seeing this appeared to have given Enjolras optimism as well.

“So… you accept?” he asked, in a hilariously timid way, so uncharacteristic that it was almost endearing. 

She nodded. “I accept.” 

Grinning, the blond squeezed her waist gently, and bowed his head, aiming for a kiss, which she quickly stopped with a hand on his lips.

“ _ If _ you accept to pay me on a daily basis, provide me with food, and not throw me out should I ever want to spend the night.”

Enjolras took her hand in his, and removed it from his lips.

“I accept.”

Returning his grin, Eponine tilted her head and welcomed his soft kiss, as if they were sealing a silent pact between them. 

It was the perfect deal. She would have food, a soft bed to sleep in every now and then,  _ and  _ Enjolras. That last one was the greatest benefit of all, for that meant the days of begging and pleading for him were over, and Eponine would at last get to enjoy him like she had always wanted. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading and have a good one.


End file.
